Soul Splitting
by Nienna Valie
Summary: HarryDraco SLASH. After his 6th year at Hogwarts it seems to Harry that winning the war against Voldemort will be impossible, but with some unexpected help from Draco Malfoy and some new memories collected by his new ally, perhaps the war can be won after
1. A Mother's Protection

**Title:** Soul Splitting

**Author name:** Nienna Valie

**Author email:** Action/Adventure

**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, Grimmauld Place, Horcruxes

**Rating:** R

**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP, HBP

**Summary:** After his 6th year at Hogwarts, Harry knows what he has to do - the problem is how to do it. The war rages on and Harry and his friends are right in the middle of it. Harry begins to feel like there's no hope of triumph, but with some help from unexpected places and a few more useful memories collected by a new ally, perhaps the war can be won after all. HP/DM, RW/HG, and RL/SB (slash!).

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author notes: Please read and review or send e-mail.

**Chapter 1:** A Mother's Protection

Draco Malfoy was in trouble – big trouble. He had failed the mission the Dark Lord had given him, and he knew what the consequences would be. Dumbledore had been so kind as to remind Draco of what these were before he had had his life swept away from him by Severus Snape. Draco shuddered as he ran down the marble stairs alongside the now ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, remembering the suddenness with which Dumbledore's life had been eradicated, and how, in that same moment, Draco's life had been as good as eradicated as well.

"Hurry. We must get off the grounds so we can apparate." Snape spoke with a steady urgency that commanded obedience, though Draco could tell Snape was speaking more to himself than to Draco. With those two words, the words of the Killing Curse, Draco knew that Snape had sealed his destiny. Draco had no idea who Snape had really been working for before that moment (different people had seemed to have very different opinions on the matter), but now Snape had no choice left – his life belonged entirely to the Dark Lord, just as Draco's did.

"But where do we go from there?" Draco panted, a stitch forming in his side. "Thanks to you, I can't go to headquarters. He's going to be furious with me." Draco felt panic begin to rise in his stomach and he felt an all-too-familiar lump begin rising in his throat. But before he could say anything else, Snape spoke.

"You will apparate to my house. I believe you know the address. Do not leave it. Wait for me there and I'll see what can be done."

Just then a spell shot past Snape, barely missing him. "Potter," hissed Snape and whirled around. Draco had no desire to wait around to face Potter himself and ran on without Snape through the gates and off the grounds. As he turned on the balls of his feet, concentrating as hard as he could on the address his mother had given him in case of an emergency, he saw Potter shooting spell after spell at his professor, each of which Snape blocked with a flick of his wand.

Draco soon felt the still-new sensation of being squeezed into nothingness and found, to his displeasure, that with the distance of this trip, the feeling lasted ever so slightly longer than it had in his apparation classes. Thankfully, the traveling time was still no more than the average trip by Portkey and Draco soon felt the pressure on his body lift and his feet land on solid, yet slightly uneven, ground.

Draco took a moment to gather his bearings and take in his surroundings. He was standing in a narrow, winding street cobbled with cracked and uneven stones. He had to assume that the house he had apparated closest to was the one he wanted, so he tightened his grip on his wand and whispered, "Alohomora." He heard the lock click and he pushed the door open. But before Draco could even step across the threshold, he was knocked over with a full-body bind curse. As Peter Pettigrew knelt down to get a better look at who his spell had hit, Draco's panic heightened. As he lay there helpless at the hands of the man he knew to be one of the Dark Lord's most loyal supporters, all sorts of frightening thoughts began to spring to mind. What if the Dark Lord had already been tipped off on tonight's events and Wormtail had been sent here to find Draco? To kill him? But his immediate fears were soon put to rest, as Wormtail heaved a sigh of relief and with a flick of his wand set him free. "You had me frightened. I thought you were one of them Order members or something, Draco. What are you doing, just breaking into people's houses?"

Draco took a second to regain his breath and said haughtily, "Snape said nothing about a house guest. I had no idea there was anyone here."

"Well, I've been here for months. This is my station." Draco couldn't help picking up something that sounded a bit like bitterness in Wormtail's voice as he gestured towards the dingy sitting room beyond the doorstep on which they stood. "Won't you come in?"

Draco nodded curtly and stepped inside. The dingy, cramped room seemed very much the kind of place Snape would inhabit – every inch of it covered with stacks of books, cauldrons, chests filled with who-knew-what, loose papers crammed unceremoniously wherever they would fit, and any number of artifacts he had never seen the likes of before. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and Draco couldn't help but find the cobwebs hanging off of walls and furniture slightly cliché; despite Wormtail's having been stationed at the house for months, as he claimed, he had obviously made no effort to clean at all.

So this was where his mother had begged Snape to make the vow that had caused all this, Draco thought. That vow, the same one that had been made to protect him, might now result in his death, he feared. He had been so close. Who was Snape to think Draco couldn't have killed Dumbledore? He had only been taunting the old man before going through with it, Draco reasoned with himself, and now, since Snape had been unable to resist taking all the glory (yes, that was it, he had been trying to steal Draco's glory all along), the Dark Lord would not hesitate to punish him for his failure. Draco knew the fact that he had enabled the Death Eaters to gain entrance to Hogwarts meant nothing in the long run; they had only been there to aid him and cause fear and mayhem at the school. Dumbledore's murder had been the Dark Lord's real test for Draco, and Draco had failed, plain and simple.

"I'm sorry, I, er, wasn't expecting anyone." Wormtail poked the sofa with his wand and muttered a spell, causing a large cloud of dust to blow off of the cushions. Wormtail motioned for Draco to sit and said, "Can I fetch you something to drink, Draco? Or some food? I can only imagine you'd be famished. It was tonight, wasn't it?"

"That won't be necessary. However, if you could fetch me a Calming Draught. And, yes, it was tonight," Draco trailed off awkwardly, his ability to remain in command of those subservient to him faltering slightly.

"Oh, and it went well, I hope." Though the way Wormtail spoke it didn't actually sound as if he cared much one way or the other how it had gone. "Well, Draco, I'm afraid I don't have a Calming Draught or the like. I'm not much of a potion brewer. There might be some Firewhisky around here somewhere, though."

"Nothing, then." Draco was sure there was indeed Firewhisky around, or at least, there was if Wormtail hadn't already drunk it all, as the smell of it hung heavily around him.

An awkward minute or so was passed in silence. Wormtail was obviously unsure what to make of Draco's presence. Draco should have known better than to be worried Wormtail meant to harm him when he first arrived – Wormtail would have been far too afraid of offending Draco's father, despite his present incarceration, and Draco knew the man was too stupid to be very deceitful. Well, Draco thought as he remembered Peter Pettigrew's actions some sixteen years earlier, he could be read like a book as long as one wasn't stupid enough to place unconditional trust in him.

"So, Draco," said Wormtail finally, "why're you here?"

The frankness with which Wormtail asked him this surprised Draco. "I, er, Snape told me to come. He wants me to wait for him."

This partial truth seemed satisfactory to Wormtail, who didn't ask for any more information, and simply said, "Right, well, if you're planning on staying the night, I'm afraid there's no bed for you, so you'll just have to – "

"You can sleep on the sofa, my dear Wormtail, and young Mr. Malfoy may take your bed." Wormtail let out a high-pitched squeak. Snape had apparated into the middle of the room. Wormtail looked quite shocked for a few moments and then nodded grudgingly.

"Sir, I don't mind the sofa. I wouldn't want to take Wormtail's bed. I plan on returning home to Mother tomorrow, anyway." The truth was, Draco preferred to stay where he could see the door and wouldn't care to sleep anywhere Wormtail frequented anyway.

Snape gave Draco a searching look, and then said, "Draco we must talk. Wormtail, leave us. Go to bed – you heard Mr. Malfoy, _your_ bed." Wormtail left the room through a secret passage, muttering under his breath things Draco couldn't quite make out, though he clearly heard stomping footsteps going up hidden stairs.

"Draco, can I get you anything to eat or drink?"

"No. Wormtail's already offered. Let's just get this over with. I'm tired."

"Fine," said Snape curtly. "Draco, you may have to stay here for some time. I'm sorry to say so, but the Dark Lord is not entirely happy with you at the moment and for you to announce your whereabouts to him or go anywhere obvious, such as your manor, would be, shall we say, imprudent."

Draco dug his fingernails into his palms and tried to fight back the frustrated tears threatening to break through. "Sir, with all due respect, I – you – if I can't go home it's your bloody fault!" he yelled. "You're the reason if he wants to kill me now! You don't have to use words like 'imprudent' to cover it up. I know perfectly well you mean if he finds me he'll kill me. AND IT'S ALL YOUR F – "

"Draco!" snapped Snape. "I had no choice. I explained to you the nature of the vow I made your mother. It's very powerful magic. You know if I had not intervened I would have died."

"Well, maybe you should have just died then!" Draco paused, breathing hard. "Your vow seems to have backfired, then, hasn't it? You haven't exactly saved my life, have you? Damn it!" Draco stood and paced to the small, dingy window at the back of the room. He grabbed the curtain and squeezed it in his fist. "You just wanted all the credit for killing the Headmaster. You wanted all the glory for yourself. And so what am I supposed to do now?"

"I'm not sure yet. However, the Dark Lord does not know of the Vow. Therefore, he would not guess that I would risk myself to hide you from him. And under normal circumstances, Draco, I wouldn't. But the Vow still holds as true now as it did an hour ago. I am bound to protect you and I will do everything I can to keep you safe until you are no longer in danger or I am no longer bound to keep you from it. Right now the best I can do is simply hide you, and for the moment the best and easiest place to do so seems to be here."

Draco bit his lower lip. "Fine. But what about him?" He gestured towards the direction in which Wormtail had disappeared.

"He wouldn't dare disobey me," said Snape simply.

There was a short silence. "So, he definitely wants to kill me, then? You're sure?" Draco asked, trying to hang on to a tiny shred of hope that his punishment might not be fatal.

"Fenrir and the others who were on the tower gave their reports and the Dark Lord is convinced that as a Death Eater you are, unfortunately, quite useless. This situation has arisen in the past, and the Dark Lord has always disposed of those he knows he cannot trust to carry out his orders with as little delay as possible. To him, allowing you to live would pose a great threat. What if you ran to the Ministry and turned yourself in, hoping for a lenient sentence if you gave them names? There are others to take your place, Draco. You can't offer him anything, and so he has no reason not to kill you, since he could lose so much by letting you live."

Draco did his best to keep his face as stoic as possible and to keep Snape from guessing what he might be thinking and feeling, but he was so tired and distressed that he found it all quite difficult. Snape must have sensed Draco's fatigue, for he quickly moved towards a door opposite the sofa Draco sat on and said, "Now, Mr. Malfoy, it is late and we have both had much excitement tonight. I suggest we sleep." Snape conjured a blanket and pillow next to Draco and without another word left the room.

Draco stayed seated for a few minutes, simply trying to process everything Snape had told him, and then after unfolding the blanket Snape had conjured (which proved disappointingly itchy) curled up on his side and closed his eyes. Sleep did not come easily, however. Draco lay awake thinking for what seemed like hours. His mind strayed over many topics: What his mother and father would think when they found out what had happened, how exactly the Dark Lord would dispose of him if he found Draco, the fact that he would never go back to Hogwarts, where he would go from Spinner's End (for Draco knew he could hardly stay there forever). And then there were the thoughts that Draco was surprised came to him at all, given the gravity of his current situation, like his nanny when he was small, the fact that if he went on the run he might not be able to bathe as often as he'd like, the ghost in the washroom who had been his confidante, what the other Slytherins were doing right now at Hogwarts. And eventually, when he could hear birds beginning to stir outside, Draco fell into an uneasy sleep plagued with dreams about towers that were made of snakes, and about trying to out-fly Thestrals (which he knew he could see now) on his Nimbus 2001, which he found, as usual, not quite as fast as he needed.

Draco spent the next two days at Spinner's End trying not to think about his own mortality. Unfortunately, this proved quite difficult, as there was hardly anything to distract him from unwanted thoughts in Snape's house. While Snape was home, he would bring papers and books to his room and hole up there for hours. In fact, since the first night there, Snape had only spoken to Draco to give him quick and useless updates on the Dark Lord's intentions, which had not changed since the night Draco had failed to kill Dumbledore.

Wormtail did all the cooking at Spinner's End, which didn't especially matter to Draco, as he was too worried to eat in the first place. When Snape wasn't home and Wormtail was holed up in his own room, Draco tried to amuse himself by going through Snape's things. Perhaps, had Draco's mind not been almost entirely consumed with images of his mother weeping over his grave, he would have found this activity more interesting. Snape had many books, Draco discovered, devoted to Dark spells and potions that he had never seen before, and some of the instruments lying around the house seemed like they might be quite dangerous. However the things that would have interested Draco the most, had he been in the right state of mind, were the private items, such as letters and bottles of a swirling silvery-white substance Draco took to be memories. Snape seemed to have made some effort to hide these items from Wormtail. They had been in locked boxes and chests and Draco had found the task of breaking the protective spells on them a welcome distraction. Obviously Snape hadn't given much credit to Wormtail's ability to break through these protections, as Draco had little trouble doing it himself. But, he supposed, Wormtail's talent was minimal and getting to these items might actually be quite difficult for someone of his poor ability. However, Draco had no interest in reading the letters once he had gotten to them, and couldn't have viewed the memories even if he'd wanted to because Snape didn't seem to own a Pensieve, so he resealed everything he had opened, careful to reproduce the exact enchantments he had broken.

Mostly, Draco tried to sleep or to concentrate enough to read one of the many books in the house, but he could hardly ever escape the feeling of dread that had come to be a constant weight in the pit of his stomach.

At dawn on the third day of Draco's stay at Spinner's End he was shaken awake by Snape, who looked more worried than Draco could remember ever having seen him.

"You have to leave."

"Pardon?" asked Draco, still bleary from sleep. "What's going on?"

"I am no longer bound to aid you, Draco, and although I care for your welfare, I care for my own more and I can't afford to hide you any longer."

"But why?" Draco demanded, his senses starting to come to him.

Snape was silent for a moment and then said, "I'm sorry, Draco, but your mother is dead. The Dark Lord ordered it and now that she's gone, any lasting spells involving her have been broken."

Draco felt as if he had been punched in the chest and had the wind knocked out of him. "What – why – why did he kill her? I thought he wanted to kill me – "

"The Dark Lord thought she was the one hiding you from him. She, of course, could only guess at your whereabouts, but he said he thought she was lying. When she wouldn't tell him anything, he had her sent home and then an hour later he sent someone to dispose of her."

"Who?" Draco asked quietly.

"Bellatrix."

Draco made a quick, choked gasp. His aunt, his mother's own sister, had murdered her, and now Draco was terribly alone without a protection in the world.

"In any case, you must leave."

"Sir – please, I – "

"I have business to attend to elsewhere, Draco. I will return in the morning and when I do, I expect you to be gone."

"But where should I go? Sir, I don't know – "

"Don't tell me! The last way in which I can help is to not know where you plan on going. If you tell me, I can't promise that the Dark Lord won't get it out of me somehow." Snape paused and examined the boy sitting on his sofa, who looked younger now than he had his first day at Hogwarts. Snape put a tentative hand on Draco's shoulder. "Good luck, Draco." With a pop, Snape Disapparated and was gone, leaving Draco agape, with no idea what to do with himself. He had known he would have to leave Spinner's End, but he had never guessed it would be this soon and under these circumstances.

"Bastard," Draco whispered. "Bastard!" Draco's breath quickened; he felt he was rapidly approaching the point of a panic attack. But before he could make the seemingly arbitrary decision of where to go, Wormtail burst through the hidden passageway that led to his quarters carrying a rucksack and began tearing apart the room, stuffing things into it. "What are you doing?" Draco asked. "Are you coming with me?"

"No, certainly not," said Wormtail hurriedly. "I'm collecting some things for you take with you, though. I heard everything, Draco, and I've had it with Snape."

"So – so, come with me then," Draco pleaded, shocked at how desperate he was for companionship.

"I can't." Wormtail paused and looked at Draco. "I still have to serve the Dark Lord. I'm too old to do anything else and too afraid to. But, Draco, Snape has things here that he will dearly miss, and I think you should take them."

Draco was too surprised to see Wormtail unlock the chest containing Snape's letters with ease, as though he had done it a hundred times, to wonder at Wormtail's blatant disrespect for Snape's authority. Wormtail emptied its contents into the rucksack and then moved onto the chest containing the little glass bottles full of memories. These too he threw into the bag, then moved to a desk in the corner of the room covered with papers. Wormtail shuffled through these and opened drawers until he found what he had been looking for – a roll of parchment tied with a green ribbon – and shoved that in as well. "All right, go, quick, I'll clean all this up and redo the spells before he comes home."

Draco nodded. He couldn't think of anything to say, so, after taking the rucksack from Wormtail, Draco walked out the door and Disapparated.

After much deliberation it had been decided that Ron and Hermione would go directly to The Burrow to help with the wedding, despite their desires to accompany Harry to his aunt and uncle's for the week he planned to spend fulfilling his promise to Dumbledore. Mrs. Weasley had understood her son's wishes, but she had insisted that, as brother to the groom, Ron had duties at home that he simply must attend to. Hermione had still offered to go with Harry, but he had told her that she might as well go with Ron. Harry knew the two of them needed some time alone together before their search for Horcruxes truly began. He wasn't blind; he could see quite plainly what Ron and Hermione's intentions were towards one another. Of course, Harry didn't tell Hermione this - rather, he explained to her that at the Dursleys', there would be little work that could be accomplished while confined to Harry's tiny bedroom. It would only be a week, he argued. He would be fine by himself for a week.

Harry rode the Knight Bus home from King's Cross Station the day after Dumbledore's funeral. The Dursleys had always grudgingly picked him up, but since Harry was returning to them several days early this year, they had not known to come. Harry reckoned that even though they would be disappointed to have him home so soon, the promise of his unusually early departure, as well as the news that he had a fairly large chance of meeting his demise in the not-too-distant future, might cheer the Dursleys up just a bit.

Oddly enough, when Harry stepped off the bus with his trunk, school bag, and owl in tow, he found that neither his aunt nor uncle were home, leaving him locked out of the house. His first instinct was to simply magic his way in, but as he still had several weeks to go before he turned seventeen, he decided not to push his luck and simply to wait for the Dursleys to return. Of course, expulsion didn't matter anymore, as Harry had no intention of returning to Hogwarts in September, but he knew (and he was sure that Dumbledore would have agreed) he was so close to being able to use magic legally that it seemed silly to get on the Ministry's bad side over something like a locked door. Although Harry was still not on good terms with the Ministry, he knew that as he was trying to escape death at the hands of Lord Voldemort, it would be imprudent to risk having the Ministry after him as well.

Harry set down his trunk and Hedwig before pulling a piece of parchment from his bag, ripping it in half, and quickly scribbling two identical notes, one to Ron and one to Hermione, even though he knew they were together.

_I've made it back to the Dursleys' all right. They're not home right now, so I'm locked out. I'll write again if anything happens, _

_Harry _

Looking around to check that no one was on the street or peering out of their windows, Harry let Hedwig out of her cage and told her to go and give one note to each of his friends. As he watched her fly off into the darkening sky, Harry sat down on the doorstep to wait. He felt a bit bad for not writing to Ginny as well, or at least asking Ron or Hermione to tell her hello from him, but he knew it was best to have as little contact with her as possible. He hadn't said goodbye to her at the station – in fact, he hadn't even spoken to her since the funeral, but if he wrote to her, she would write to him and correspondence would make keeping this breakup afloat near impossible. Of course, Harry reasoned, he would still have to see her at Bill and Fleur's wedding, but that was a week away and Harry was confident that having time away from Ginny – albeit a short amount of time – during which he knew she would be as safe as any normal girl would help. He felt confident that he could make himself get over her in much the same way he had made himself get over Sirius's and Dumbledore's deaths. Of course, parts of him would always ache and miss them, but he knew they were gone and that he had to be strong for their memories and for the people he still had. Although Ginny was far from dead, in a way Harry knew that he must act as if she was to pull off saving her. Anything less and they could relapse. He would always feel fond of her, but if he was quite honest with himself, he had to admit that there were more important things to worry about.

Harry felt a bit guilty upon this last realization, but was soon distracted by the bright headlights in his face. He shaded his eyes to try and see through the windshield, but the beams were too bright and all he could see was their light. It took Uncle Vernon a few seconds to turn the car's engine off and step out of the vehicle to face Harry. Harry attributed this to the shock his uncle had received upon turning into his driveway only to find his least favorite person awaiting his return on the doorstep. Sure enough, once Vernon Dursley regained the ability to speak, he raised a finger, pointed it at Harry and said, "You! What are you doing here? We've just been to collect Dudders and we know you're not supposed to be home for two days! Explain yourself!"

Curious to hear what Harry had to say, or, more likely than not, wanting a better view if fighting ensued, Aunt Petunia and Dudley both made their ways out of the car and stood behind their patriarch.

"Well," Harry began, "one of my teachers at school was really a spy for Lord Voldemort." Uncle Vernon looked confused. "You know, the one who murdered my mum and dad? Well, one of my teachers was his spy and he murdered the headmaster a couple of days ago, so they had to close the school early. But we all got to stay for the funeral – everyone was there: centaurs, merpeople, a giant – everyone. And so now Lord Voldemort is after me but I have to – " Harry had almost said "destroy the remaining pieces of his torn soul and finally finish him off," but decided mentioning this to people even as clueless as the Dursleys wasn't a good idea, so he settled for, "lie low here for a little while and then start thinking about how to how to do him in." Seeing the dumbfounded looks on their faces, Harry hastily added, "But he'll probably kill me first, so that's something, isn't it?"

Finally hearing something he could understand, Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes at Harry and said, "All right, but none of the neighbors had better've heard us or you're out tonight. And if Voldi-man shows up here, I won't think twice about chucking you right to him." Harry nodded and waited for Aunt Petunia to unlock the front door before following them all inside. Uncle Vernon's threat of kicking him out didn't worry him too much. He doubted that anyone had heard anything, but even if they had, he knew his Aunt Petunia would keep her promise to Dumbledore – Harry was sure Dumbledore's having died didn't make her fear him any less. And as for Voldemort seeking Harry out on Privet Drive, well, Harry knew that that was impossible for the time being, thanks to his mother.

Most of the next week at the Dursleys' was fairly uneventful. Harry had received a letter from Hermione the day after he arrived, telling him the usual about lying low while he was there, not leaving the house if he could help it, and most importantly, to think about everything he had learned with Dumbledore so he could start deducing Horcrux locations.

Other than his correspondence with Hermione, however, Harry's week had mostly consisted of going through the books Sirius and Lupin had given him for Christmas during his fifth year, looking for anything that he might find handy in the coming months. The Dursleys completely ignored him and Harry was, as usual, counting the days until he would leave Privet Drive. The only difference was that this year Harry knew he needn't come back ever again.

The crowning event of Harry's third day was a quite unexpected owl from Remus Lupin. Harry had to admit he was a bit surprised to hear from Lupin. After all, who had told Harry his reason for not writing had been his undercover job living with the other werewolves. Harry's first thought was that Lupin must be writing because something bad had happened, so without pausing to thank the owl, he grabbed the letter, almost plucking a few feathers in the process, and tore the scroll's seal unceremoniously open.

_Harry, _

_Let me apologize again for not writing regularly to you last year. I can only imagine how hard things must have been for you, especially having lost Sirius. I know how much something as small as regular correspondence with someone from the outside world might have been, at the least, something to look forward to. _

Harry quickly scanned the rest of the letter, looking for anything suspicious, but concluded this was simply a letter of goodwill and so, pleasantly surprised, he read on.

_I certainly don't mean to presume that you would find letters from me to be anything particularly exciting, but even so, I regret not offering you more friendship prior to this. Perhaps I simply did not wish to intrude on your relationship with Sirius._

_So before I fall too deeply into overly personal territory, I shall make the bold assumption that you are interested in the fact that I am no longer working for Fenrir Greyback and explain how this came to be. Actually, it is all fairly straightforward. Fenrir knew I was at Hogwarts the night of the attack and that I was not there fighting for Voldemort. Obviously, my cover is blown and to return would be downright dangerous. Though my being stationed there was not a total loss. I believe that before I was found out, there were some others with my, as your father called it, "furry little problem," who seemed sick of Fenrir and interested in, at the very least, not fighting for Voldemort. I shall have to investigate further before I can be sure, but I think I may have gained the Order a few more allies. _

_Now, Harry, this brings me to something of an ulterior motive for writing to you today. As you know, I am not, shall we say, the wealthiest of werewolves, and prior to his death and my stationing with Fenrir, Sirius had kindly allowed me residence in Grimmauld Place with him. I am currently imposing on the hospitality of Alastor, but I'm afraid I am beginning to overstay my welcome, especially with the full moon on Wednesday. So Harry, without sounding too pathetic, I am asking if you might rent me a room in Grimmauld Place. I can't afford much and of course, I understand if you'll want the place to yourself if you move in, but seeing as it's being used for headquarters again, it would be convenient beyond measure and the safety of being able to transform in such an isolated environment is really unrivaled. _

_Forgive me for my ramblings, Harry, and please in your reply feel free to fill me in on any news you wish. I'm afraid I'm not particularly up-to-date on the life of The Boy Who Lived (or is the title "The Chosen One" still in vogue?). _

_Anxiously awaiting your reply, _

_Remus Lupin _

When Harry had finished reading, he had to admit he was rather shocked. Lupin had never shown this much of an interest in him before, but, he supposed, Lupin must be lonelier than ever now that he had free time to think about Sirius and the other Marauders. After all, Harry had lost his mother and father and Sirius, but Lupin had also lost Lily and James, and he had lost Sirius not once, but twice. Sirius's death must really have hit Lupin hard. After all, he thought, they had been best friends and lived together. But then he remembered – hadn't Lupin been holding hands with Tonks at Dumbledore's funeral? However, despite the questions that had arisen while he read, Harry didn't wait to contemplate them. He grabbed some parchment and a quill and wrote:

_Professor Lupin, _

_Of course you can use Grimmauld Place! I'd forgotten it was even mine. I've been thinking I might go stay at Godric's Hollow after the wedding, so you'll have the place to yourself. And don't worry about rent. If Sirius didn't ask for rent, then I certainly won't. The house is bigger than you, the Order, or I could ever really put to full use, and I think it's good for it to have people living there – after all, look at what happened to the house the last time it was vacant. _

_I'm glad to hear you don't have to live with that awful Fenrir Greyback anymore. It must have been horrible. What are you doing for the Order now? If I can ask, that is – I know how touchy you all are about your missions. _

_Now let's see, you said to bring you up to date a bit. I'm sorry to say, Professor, but I don't really think there's much for me to tell you. It's all been school this and fighting Death Eaters that, nothing too interesting. _

_Well, I hope you enjoy your stay at the luxurious Grimmauld Place and I suppose I'll see you in a few days at The Burrow for the wedding. _

_Until then, _

_Harry _

After signing his reply, Harry realized the owl that had brought him Lupin's letter had become impatient and flown away, so he enlisted Hedwig as messenger and was sure to give her an owl treat before she left.

With only two days more to go until Harry was due at The Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding, he was beginning to wonder why he had not received any word from Ron on the subject. He had only assumed that he would be staying at The Burrow with the Weasleys and Hermione, but Ron had not written him once since they had been home, though Hermione's letters indicated that she was still at The Burrow and well. Harry didn't understand what could possibly have kept Ron from at least writing him a note saying something along the lines of, "Harry, can't wait to see you Saturday! Fred and George will be here for the wedding so you'll be kipping in my room." Anything would have been welcome. He was starting to wonder if he had been wrong to make the assumption that he was invited to stay with Ron and his family. But of course, he reasoned, Ron would be busy with wedding plans. As family of the groom, he had all sorts of obligatory brother tasks to perform before the big day.

After much deliberation, Harry owled Hermione to see if she knew whether anything was wrong with Ron. It was a little difficult to phrase, as he had no wish to sound paranoid, but he was also starting to fear that perhaps the date had been changed and he simply hadn't gotten the owl. He knew nothing too serious could have happened, though, because he had been getting _The Prophet_ everyday and no one involved with the wedding seemed to have met with any trouble. After several failed attempts at sounding nonchalant, Harry sent Hermione a letter saying all the usual things – ways he would like to kill Snape, his annoyance with the Dursleys, the things Draco Malfoy might be forced to do for the Death Eaters, and his take on recent news in _The Prophet_. He ended his letter by saying,

_So I suppose I'll see you Saturday, then. I sort of wish I was staying at The Burrow too, but I think with all the family and everything, there just isn't room and I bet everyone will be busy enough as it is, so I'll be staying at Grimmauld Place until we leave for Godric's Hollow. _

_Best, _

_Harry_

Yes, thought Harry as he watched Hedwig sail off, his letter had been perfectly aloof.

Harry spent Friday morning packing. Since he knew he would be leaving Privet Drive for good, he had slightly more to pack than usual. Although he always brought almost all his belongings to school, little things had managed to accumulate in the house over time. In his room, Harry found some old birthday cards from when he turned fourteen stowed beneath a loose floorboard, as well as a stash of chocolate frog cards he had forgotten he had. Harry even ventured down to his old cupboard under the stairs, where he was surprised to find quite a few tokens from his Muggle childhood. A perfectly normal Muggle yo-yo (normal aside from the fact that Dudley had removed the string and used it to hang Harry's small plastic Kermit the Frog figurine from one of the narrow beams in the cupboard's ceiling – Kermit was still there), the wrappers from a Drifter bar and a Yorkie (both of which he had undoubtedly stolen from Dudley and both of which he had undoubtedly received a sound beating for nicking), and, most precious of all, an old primary school report. His marks hadn't been outstanding, but they hadn't been awful either, though one of his teachers had scribbled in what were now faded letters, "Harry doesn't seem to have many friends; I think the other children may be a bit scared of him, but then, children are often scared of what is odd."

Harry couldn't help but smile just a bit. He had been odder than he ever could have imagined back then. Taking one last look around his old cupboard, which now seemed so small that he wondered how he had ever properly fit, he took each one of the treasures he had found, even the old sweets wrappers, and put them safely at the bottom of his trunk.

By Friday afternoon Harry had become particularly antsy, knowing that in just a few short hours he would be leaving the Dursleys for good. He had finished all of his packing, being sure to leave his dress robes out for the wedding, and was now passing the time by glancing down at his watch every two or three minutes. He had received another owl from Lupin, thanking Harry for allowing him residence at Grimmauld Place and apologizing for not having written sooner due to "that time of the month." Lupin ended by saying he looked forward to seeing Harry on Saturday and reminding him to, in the words of Moody, have constant vigilance while on the Knight Bus.

So now here Harry was, sitting on the floor of his room, which was empty of everything but the furniture and bedding belonging to the Dursleys, trying not to think about Ginny and to instead keep his mind on possible Horcrux locations (of course, since he was still living with the Muggles and couldn't yet use magic, this line of thought was going in circles). Harry had just checked his watch for what must have been the twenty-seventh time since it had turned four-thirty five minutes earlier when he heard a rapid succession of loud knocks at the front door.


	2. It's a Nice Day For a White Wedding

**Chapter 2:** It's a Nice Day For a White Wedding

"Who the bloody hell's knocking?" Harry heard Uncle Vernon ask in an irritated manner to no one in particular. "Can't they see we have a doorbell? Knocking... it's barbaric... Just had the door painted..." Harry snorted a laugh. Knocking barbaric? Uncle Vernon was certainly setting high expectations for the human race. He heard the front door open. "I don't care what you're selling; I'm not interested – Ouch! What're you – get out of my house!" Uncle Vernon shouted.

The caller ignored Mr. Dursley's demands and Harry heard an all-too-familiar voice shout, "Potter! Potter! Come out here – I have to talk to you!" Harry stood up and bolted out of his room and down the stairs. As he reached the foyer, he pulled his wand from his front pocket and pointed it at Draco Malfoy.

"What the hell are you doing here and what do you want?" Harry demanded.

Malfoy stole a disgusted look at Uncle Vernon and asked, "Could we please adjourn to your private quarters? What we have to discuss is between the two of us alone."

"Now, you wait right here. Who do you think you are, barging into my house unannounced and demanding to be taken upstairs?" interjected Uncle Vernon.

Without a pause, Malfoy drew his wand and pointed it at Uncle Vernon. "Listen, you filthy Muggle, if you think for one minute that I have to answer to you, then you are dead wrong. I have come here to speak to Potter and I have no intention of allowing the likes of you to stand in my way."

Although Harry now knew that this was an empty threat, as Draco Malfoy had proved himself to be incapable of murder mere days before, he couldn't say he blamed Malfoy for threatening Uncle Vernon – the man practically begged to be hexed every time he came in contact with wizards. Harry, wand still pointed at Malfoy, allowed himself a brief moment to drink in the look on Uncle Vernon's face – which somehow read as contemptuous, frightened, and haughty all at once – before he remembered himself and said, "Right, Malfoy, since I know you're not up to killing me and I'd rather not get a warning from the Ministry if I don't have to, I'll give you five seconds to put down your wand." Malfoy looked away from Uncle Vernon and obediently stowed his wand away in his jacket, then lifted up his empty hands to show Harry he was unarmed. "Good," said Harry keeping his own wand raised, "I'll give you ten minutes, but not in front of the Muggle. C'mon, we can go to my room."

Harry stood aside to let Malfoy up the stairs ahead of him. He pointed out his door to Malfoy and the two entered. Closing the door behind him, Harry said, "Well?"

Malfoy looked around the room, the hint of a sneer playing on his lips. Inwardly, Harry dared him to say something about his tiny Muggle bedroom. If Malfoy had come here only to insult him, Harry would put a body-bind curse on him without thinking twice and hand him right over to the Order. In fact the only reason he had not done so already was that the last time he had seen Malfoy, there had been a flicker of something on his face that looked like fear at the idea of returning to Lord Voldemort. Not to mention that Harry could not forget it had not been Malfoy who had uttered the Killing Curse – it had been Snape, and there was a very good chance Malfoy knew where to find the greasy ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Harry looked pointedly at Malfoy, who was eyeing a stain on the carpet. He repeated himself. "Well?"

Malfoy looked up at Harry and then at his own hands. "I won't beg, Potter."

"What?" said Harry. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

Malfoy sighed in annoyance. "You know perfectly well what I mean. I know you were there – on the Astronomy Tower. I saw the other broom, and I saw you come after Snape and me when we ran. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, Potter. You were under that cloak of yours and you heard everything Dumbledore and I said. So allow me to repeat myself: I won't beg."

Harry was taken aback. But, he supposed, if McGonagall had deduced that Harry had been there, it wasn't so farfetched that Malfoy could have done the same. "So what? I still don't understand what you want or why you've come to me for it."

Malfoy continued to look at his hands and began to pick at his cuticles. "I've come to you because you were the only one who heard what he and I talked about before Snape killed him."

Harry, who had tried so hard over the past year to always keep from losing his temper, could not help but explode at this. "'Before Snape killed him'? You may not have said the words, Malfoy, but – but YOU KILLED DUMBLEDORE EVERY BIT AS MUCH AS SNAPE DID, AND YOU KNOW IT!"

But Malfoy plowed onwards, more loudly than before to ensure he was still heard if Harry began to yell again, and with a pained expression on his face, giving no indication that he had heard a word Harry had said. "And so you see, if you heard everything we said, then you must have deduced with those wonderful powers of deduction that only you possess, Potter, that before we were so rudely interrupted, I was having second thoughts about whether I really ought to follow through with what I had been sent to do."

Harry thought he was starting to catch on to where Malfoy was going with this, but he wasn't about to let Malfoy just waltz in, thinking he could negotiate some sort of surrender. "So what? Now you've come to me to beg for my forgiveness? You want me to save you from Voldemort?"

Malfoy flinched at the name and continued. "No. Not exactly. Like I said, I won't beg, nor do I expect, or want, forgiveness. And I won't try to pretend I have some great, noble reason for coming here either. I simply discovered that murder doesn't really suit me; I'm not disposed to it. And as that is really the number one qualification for being a Death Eater, The Dark Lord isn't too pleased with me. I'm not saying that I repent or that I'm going to become a good little Gryffindor and go out and risk my neck fighting evil – in fact, I'm doing the most Slytherin thing I can think of and saving my own skin. If I had gone back to him, he would've killed me."

"So you're expecting me to keep him from doing that? You think I don't have more important things to do than protect you from Voldemort?"

Malfoy flinched again and finally looked up to meet Harry's eyes. "I didn't say that. I don't need you to be my personal bodyguard, Potter; I can take care of myself. But without someone else on my side, there's only so long I can run until he or someone else catches me."

"And why shouldn't I just let him catch you?" said Harry, prodding Malfoy in the chest with his wand. "Isn't that what you deserve?"

"Because the person you thought was your spy, your man on the inside, hasn't been feeding your Order real information on The Dark Lord's goings on for months and you are all disgustingly out of date on what he's doing. I may not know much, but I know more than your lot does. I'm not willing to risk my life playing spy for you – he wouldn't believe me, anyway – but I'll tell you the little bit I know. Not just about him, but Snape as well. Oh yes, Potter – I know you care every bit as much about doing Snape in as you do The Dark Lord. And that's the one area in which I am willing to actually help you fight. You see I have business to settle with Professor Snape as well." Malfoy paused to examine the look on Harry's face, which was starting to become contemplative. "Plus," he continued, softly, "I don't think Dumbledore would have wanted you to turn away someone who was willing to renounce the Dark Lord. Dumbledore was always preaching about seeing the best in people after all, even to the last, wasn't he?"

"Don't you dare talk about Dumbledore like you knew him!" Harry snapped, his need to yell full-out having dissipated some. Harry hated to admit it, but he knew Malfoy was right. Breathing hard and trying to keep his temper in check, he asked, "So, why not just go to the Ministry? Why come to me? I still don't understand."

"Potter, you are so slow. I can't go to the Ministry because in their eyes I have committed a crime by allowing Death Eaters entrance into the school, even if I didn't murder anybody. I assume someone has, since last week, informed them of all my goings-on, at least those they know of. If I go to the Ministry for protection, they'll just ask me for names and then, if I comply, give me a slightly more lenient sentence than they would have otherwise."

"Well, then, that's what you should do. You should go to Azkaban. You can have a cell right next to your disgusting father."

Malfoy's nostrils flared and Harry could tell he was trying very hard not to hit back with a jab at Lily or James Potter, but he was smart enough to know that this would get him nowhere with Harry. Finally he spoke. "First, the names I know are limited. As such a young and new member, the Dark Lord only exposed me to people he had to. This was so that if I was found out, I _couldn't_ give names to the Ministry, and also so that if anyone else were captured, they wouldn't be able to tell the Ministry anything about the plan. Secondly, just by speaking to you I am a traitor to the Dark Lord, not to mention failing to do his bidding and not returning to him for punishment after the fact. If I go to Azkaban, I have very little chance of surviving my first week. My father isn't the only Death Eater still loyal to the Dark Lord in Azkaban, and he alone wouldn't be able to protect me from the others. Most of them who are still in there are the ones who failed to get the Prophecy from the Department of Mysteries last year and they'd love to get their hands on me to try and get back on the Dark Lord's good side. He' just been letting them rot there as punishment for their failure after all."

Quite suddenly, Harry fully understood the gravity of Malfoy's situation. If Voldemort found him, Malfoy would be killed. If the Ministry found him, chances were Malfoy would still be killed. Coming to Harry was a last act of desperation to save his own life, though Harry still wasn't sure how he could go about doing that. "So what exactly do you want me to do for you? You said you don't want a bodyguard. What do you want, then?"

Malfoy looked at Harry and said, "I need somewhere I can be safe and not always be worrying that Death Eaters or Aurors are suddenly going to swarm in and kill or arrest me. And an ally. Not a friend, but I need someone who believes I don't want to work for the Dark Lord. I need at least one person who doesn't want me dead. You don't have to like me – I certainly don't like you – but I have to know there's somebody who doesn't intend to kill me or send me to my certain death. And someone to help me get Snape. Haven't you ever heard the saying 'My enemy's enemy is my friend'?"

Harry could feel his defenses wearing down. Malfoy was being very convincing, and as much as Harry hated him, Harry didn't want Malfoy to die. "But how do I know I can actually trust you? How do I know you won't double cross me just the way Snape did?"

Malfoy shrugged. "You can't know, not for sure."

Harry looked into Malfoy's eyes, trying to read something, anything, that might give away some sign that Malfoy was lying – that he was trying to trap Harry. But Malfoy's stare was inscrutable, and Harry knew if he were to do this, it would mean a huge leap of faith. If only he could do Legilimency. Well, Harry thought, although he hated to admit it, if Malfoy had any information, it would be worth hearing what he had to say. And as far as Malfoy double-crossing him, it wasn't as though he had come here spouting some sappy story of regret for his crimes the way Snape had done to Dumbledore. Harry had to be honest with himself – everything Malfoy was saying seemed very much like him. And of course, though Harry would not tell Malfoy he thought so, Malfoy was right about Dumbledore – he would have wanted Malfoy on their side. Dumbledore would have done anything for someone who wanted to leave the Death Eaters, even after Snape's betrayal. Harry wasn't sure if he could go so far as promising to do anything to help Malfoy; he certainly didn't have time to try and make a defense to clear Malfoy's name as Dumbledore would have tried to do, but when Harry weighed his options, it really did seem like having Malfoy on his side, and away from Voldemort, would be a good idea – strategically speaking. Perhaps, Harry supposed, he could at least attempt to find Malfoy someplace safe to hide.

"Fine," said Harry. "Fine, I'll try and help you."

"Really?" Malfoy asked, for a brief moment allowing himself to show excitement and relief. "I, er... thank you, Potter. You won't regret it."

"You'd better hope I don't, because if I do, then I promise you, you will be in Azkaban before you can say Gobstone."

Malfoy's mouth curled slightly at one edge to form an almost undetectable smile and held out his hand. Harry stared at it for a few seconds and then, taking a deep breath, shook it and hoped he had not just made a mammoth mistake.

Later that evening, Draco was doing one of the last things he would have ever imagined he would do – sitting on the floor of Harry Potter's Muggle bedroom eating the Muggle food Potter had nicked from his aunt's kitchen (some cold chicken and leftover macaroni salad). It wasn't really what Draco was used to, but now that the fear of certain and fast-approaching death had been lifted, he had realized he was quite hungry and found the food perfectly acceptable. As he finished sucking all the meat off of the last chicken leg, Draco noticed Potter staring at him.

"What?" Draco asked, swallowing the last bit.

"It's just, well, why are you wearing a green tweed suit?"

"Because I had to look like a Muggle."

"Well, you may be wearing Muggle clothes, but Muggle teenagers rarely wear tweed suits."

"It was the best I could do, Potter. My options were limited."

Potter gave Draco a searching look. "You didn't steal it, did you?"

Draco sighed and pushed away his plate. "If you must know, I did. But before you get all upset and indignant on the behalf of the suit's former owner, I'll have you know that the house I took it from belonged to some Muggles who were obviously very wealthy, and at the time my need was much greater than theirs. I think it's just their weekend house, anyway. They probably won't notice anything's gone."

Potter still looked slightly put out, but it didn't seem like he was about to lose his temper. "So, where was this house?"

"Up north in the Lake District."

"The Lake District? Why were you there?"

Draco shrugged. "I needed someplace where I knew there probably wouldn't be any wizards. My parents took me on holiday near this one village once, when I was little, and I remembered liking it."

"So why did you leave?"

"I was staying in a Muggle youth hostel (which was absolutely filthy, might I add, and filled with Muggle teens who all had long, dreadlocked hair and smelled as if they had never once bathed). After a few days there, some people I recognized as being Beauxbatons students showed up to go hiking (filthy pastime), and since I was afraid they might recognize me, I left and came here." Draco paused, wondering whether he should tell Potter the last bit of why he'd left. "I'd spent most of my time there trying to decide whether or not to come see you, actually. When the Beauxbatons students turned up, I figured I'd never be able to find somewhere totally safe on my own, and I was running out of Muggle money."

"Wait, where did you get Muggle money?"

"The same place I found the suit." Potter frowned and Draco began to feel a bit awkward. "Er, could I take a bath here?"

Potter fetched Draco some towels and gave Draco a set of Muggle clothes he assured him were more inconspicuous than his suit.

After showing Malfoy the way to the washroom and thinking that he still had many unanswered questions regarding Malfoy's activities over the past week, Harry returned to his bedroom to find Hedwig waiting for him on his bed with a letter from Hermione.

_Harry,_

_I'm not entirely sure what's wrong with Ron. Perhaps you should have told him you and Ginny split up. I know what you were playing at by saying you'd stay at Grimmauld Place, but it might be a good idea if you really did stay there until we leave. I don't mean to say that Ron is particularly angry – I don't really know because he hasn't mentioned it to me – I'm only speculating._

_See you tomorrow,_

_Hermione_

_PS. Thanks for telling me as well! I didn't even know until yesterday morning when I asked Ginny why she looked so down at breakfast. She seemed thoroughly surprised that I didn't know you had "dumped her because you think she's just a stupid child." Well, I look forward to hearing your side of the story._

Harry looked up from the letter, dumbfounded. How could Ginny think he thought she was a stupid child? And how could he have forgotten to tell Ron and Hermione that he had broken up with her? He always told them everything! But that was the problem, Harry supposed: he had been so caught up on the train home discussing Voldemort and Snape, Death Eaters and Horcruxes that he had completely forgotten to tell them about this monumental news regarding his personal life. He would have to apologize tomorrow. He was sure no lasting damage had been done with Hermione, but Harry had a feeling things would not be so easily smoothed over with Ron. Well, he would just have to try. Tomorrow he would just make sure that he get sufficient time alone with each of them to explain himself and apologize. After all, his intentions were nothing but good (despite what Ginny might say) and given all the stress he was under, how could they hold a grudge because he hadn't filled them in on his love life? It wasn't as though he was asking them for details about their budding relationship. No, he thought, everything would be just fine. Ron might take some time, but everything would work out. Had they not promised him their full support and friendship just a week ago at Dumbledore's funeral?

"Potter, these clothes are huge! This shirt could be a dress!" Malfoy caught sight of Harry sitting on his bed, looking utterly exhausted and holding the letter. "Bad news?"

Harry looked up. Malfoy had come back wearing Harry's old clothes, which, having once been Dudley's, looked as oversized on him as they did on Harry. He was toweling his hair dry with one hand and holding the waist of his jeans up with the other. Harry looked at his hand and realized he had been holding Hermione's letter crumpled up and clenched in his fists. "I – er, well. Sort of bad news, yeah," he answered lamely, and stood to find Malfoy a belt. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Personal stuff. I forgot to tell Ron and Hermione something and they're a bit bent out of shape about it, so tomorrow at the wedding – oh no, the wedding!" Harry smacked his forehead and Malfoy raised his eyebrow, if possible, even higher. "There's a wedding tomorrow. Ron's brother, Bill, is getting married to Fleur Delacour, the Tri-Wizard champion from Beauxbatons, if you remember her. And I have to go, but what am I going to do with you?"

Malfoy looked a bit offended. "I'm not an untrained Niffler, Potter – I can be left alone. You won't return to find I've torn up your sofa in search of shiny objects and left surprises in your shoes."

"That's just it, though – you can't stay here. After tomorrow, I'm leaving and I'm not quite sure where I'll be staying after the wedding. You're just going to have to come with me."

Malfoy was looking concerned. "I don't think anyone at that wedding will be too happy to see me there. And frankly, I wouldn't be caught dead at a social event like that, anyway," he added hurriedly.

Harry ignored Malfoy's rude comment and said, "No, I don't suppose they would be happy. I mean, I'll have to tell Ron and Hermione about you at some point, but I don't think tomorrow is the time to do it. I suppose this rules out staying at the Weasleys', even if I _am_ invited." At this point Harry was speaking more to himself than Malfoy, and concluded, "Well, that'll just have to do."

"What?" asked Malfoy, "What will have to do?"

Harry looked at Malfoy. "You'll have to come. I can't leave you at my house in London alone (yes, Malfoy, I own a house in London), because it's not exactly friendly and there might be people popping in and out who I wouldn't want you running into. So you'll come and you'll have to wear my Invisibility Cloak."

"I feel ridiculous," Malfoy whispered in Harry's ear as they stepped aboard the Knight Bus the next morning. Harry ignored Malfoy's quiet complaints until he had stowed Malfoy's rucksack and his own luggage safely above two seats in the back of the second level and made sure Malfoy was sitting down on the inside seat, next to the window.

At this point, Harry decided it was safe to answer and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "You feel ridiculous? No one can see you! How do you think I feel muttering to no one?" In fact, Harry now had new appreciation for his friends putting up with his company in Hogsmeade on several occasions while he donned his cloak. Malfoy didn't answer, but Harry heard him make a huffy sigh. Checking to see that the seats around them were empty, Harry whispered, "Okay, so this is how things will go today: you will remain under the cloak at all times, and unless I tell you otherwise, you will stay next to me. If I think I've lost you, I'll say, 'Oh no, I think I've lost my quill,' and then you'll tap my shoulder to let me know you're still there."

"That's stupid."

"No, it's important. There are a lot of people looking for you on both sides, so I need to know I don't have to run off to keep some loony from doing you in. I just want to get through this day without any major disasters. Anyway, if I thought there was somewhere I could leave you alone safely, believe me, I would. And I have to go to this wedding – if I don't show up, people will worry and then they'll be looking for me, too, and asking awkward questions. So I need you to promise me you'll do as I say today – I have to know you won't do something stupid."

"Fine," said Malfoy, "I'll be a perfect angel. But, 'Oh no, I think I've lost my quill'? Couldn't we think of a better code than that?"

"What do you suggest?"

"How about something simpler, like 'Do you know where the washroom is?'"

"Fine, unless it's Ron or Hermione or someone else who knows perfectly well that I know exactly where the washroom is. In that case it'll have to be my quill."

"Fine," said Malfoy. "Not that it matters anyway. I don't plan on getting lost because that will just mean spending more time there under this stupid thing."

Draco could not believe that he was being forced to attend this wedding. He supposed there was nothing wrong with the Delacour woman, but to be in the presence of so many Weasleys at one time was sure to be one of the most painful experiences of Draco's life – socially speaking. The ride on the Knight Bus was bearable, except that Potter was so overprotective and anxious. Draco wished Potter would just let him find a shady spot once they got to the Weasley abode and sit there until it was time to go, but Potter insisted that if he was going to do this 'helping-Malfoy-stay-alive-thing,' as he so eloquently put it, then he would do it right. Draco hated to admit it to himself, but he knew Potter had a perfectly valid point. Better safe than sorry and all that... it was just that Draco hated the Weasleys so very much.

When the Knight Bus stopped, Draco was sure this could not be where they were getting off. He knew the Weasley household would be small and run-down (he had made so many jokes about it in the past), but he had never thought anyone could live in a place like this. The house they were in front of, with a sign out front that read "The Burrow," looked like it would fall apart if someone so much as sneezed in its direction, and although many magical extensions appeared to have been added on, Draco couldn't figure out how the Weasleys had managed to fit their scores of offspring inside.

As if sensing Draco's disdain, Potter hissed, "Not a word about their house, Malfoy. You should be so lucky to stay someplace so wonderful."

Draco highly doubted this, but all he said was, "Did I say anything about their, er, 'house,' Potter?"

"And no sarcastic remarks, either."

"Who's being sarcastic?"

Without answering, Potter dragged his luggage in the direction of a large patch of trees behind The Burrow and gestured for Draco to take his belongings and do the same. "We can leave our things here and get them later."

"Unattended? What if someone takes something?"

"Obviously you've never been to a party with decent people before, Malfoy. No one here will take anything."

"Isn't that Mundungus Fletcher over their by the gifts?"

"Well, er, yes, but he knows not to steal from me and my name's on my things, so if you leave yours with mine you have nothing to worry about."

"Whatever you say, Potter," said Draco skeptically and followed his visible companion in the direction of the other guests.

The ceremony and reception were both being held in an orchard behind The Burrow, the far end of which had several rows of seats set up all facing a small platform where Draco supposed the actual ceremony would take place. It seemed to Draco that the whole area was practically buried in flowers, which, he was disappointed to see, were attracting an alarming amount of bees. Directly behind the seats, there was one patch of ground that had been kept clear (Draco assumed for the untrained, plebian dancing that would take place once the guests had ingested sufficient amounts of alcohol), and then nearest the path leading up from the house there were a dozen or so round tables set up with five or six chairs each. Draco groaned, but quietly enough to keep Potter from noticing.

"Harry!" Draco turned to see the Mudblood, Granger, running directly at him and side-stepped just in time to keep her from bumping into him as she threw herself upon Potter. "Harry, you should probably go and sit down, the ceremony is starting really soon. I'm sitting up front with Ron and the rest of the family, so I'll see you after."

As quickly as she had appeared, Granger ran off and sat down in the front row next to the Weasel King, who was unmistakable even from the back. She said something to him and he turned around to look at Potter. Potter waved, but Weasley showed no sign of having noticed and turned around to face front again. Even though Draco knew Potter couldn't have sat up front because of him, Potter was obviously put out by not having been asked.

"Weasley's mad at you, then?" Draco whispered.

"Shut up," said Potter.

"Pardon?"

"Oh, no, not you, Professor," said Potter to Lupin, who had just walked up behind them. "I was just, er, talking out loud to myself."

Draco snorted a laugh and Harry rubbed his nose, trying, Draco supposed, to look as though he had sneezed.

Lupin gave Potter a curious look and then said, "Right, well, would you care to take a seat with me, Harry? Most of the good ones seem to be taken, but the back row there appears to have room."

Potter nodded and Draco followed as they set off towards the last row of chairs. Potter made sure to dart ahead of Lupin so he could ensure Draco sat on the third seat into the row. He groped in midair for a moment until he lightly hit the back of Draco's head and then, apparently satisfied with Draco's position, sat down. The morning had been cold and Potter had worn a cloak, which he was able to drape over the back of Draco's seat to make it look as though it was being saved for someone. Once they were all seated, Lupin looked at Potter and smiled. "So, Harry, how are you? Looking forward to spending some time at The Burrow?"

"Er, I'm all right, but, um, Professor, I actually don't think I'll be staying here. I hope you won't mind if I stay at Grimmauld Place for a little while?"

Grimmauld Place. The name sounded familiar to Draco, but he couldn't quite figure out why.

"Mind? Of course not, Harry, I'll be glad of the company. I – " Lupin stopped talking, quickly slouching low in his seat and covering the right side of his face, which was facing the aisle.

Potter appeared puzzled. "Professor, what's –"

"Hi, Remus."

"Oh, er, Nymphadora, I, ah, didn't see you. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Harry, could you move down a seat so I could sit with you guys?"

"Er, no. I'm saving it for... someone. Sorry." Draco always liked it when he heard Gryffindors lie; there was something slightly satisfying about it.

"Oh, right," said Tonks. "Well, I'll see you later, then. Save me a dance, Remus."

Draco saw Lupin smile in a forced sort of way and nod. So Draco's cousin was lusting after a werewolf – how scandalous.

"Thank you, Harry," said Lupin. "I am eternally grateful."

"You're welcome I guess, but Professor, I'm confused," said Potter. "A few days ago, I mean, I thought you two –"

"Yes, well, Harry, a lot of people 'thought,' but they all seemed to think wrong."

"But at the funeral, you were holding hands."

Lupin sighed. "I know. I feel very badly. Harry, allow me to give you some advice about women. Just because they are crying does not mean you ought to do something you don't want to – it will only cause confusion and trouble."

"I don't mean to pry," said Potter, in what he obviously thought was a tactful manner, "but perhaps you ought to talk to Tonks. From what I could tell, she really likes you and if you don't like her, then you should just tell her and not make excuses... Sorry, sir."

Draco tried very hard not to laugh. Harry Potter giving love advice to a werewolf – it was priceless.

Lupin smiled. "No need to apologize, Harry. You are completely right. James would have said the same thing, and Sirius would have said it ages ago. And, Harry, please – no more 'Sir' or 'Professor.' I think it's time you called me Remus."

Harry smiled awkwardly. "Er, all right, Remus."

"How touching," Draco murmured. Potter took this opportunity to inconspicuously step on Draco's foot. Draco couldn't help inhaling sharply at this, but the sound was covered by the whine of bagpipes, which had struck up their abrasive song as the bridesmaids began to walk down the aisle. He vaguely recognized a petite blond girl as the one Potter had rescued from the lake during the Triwizard Tournament. She was Fleur Delacour's sister, if he remembered correctly. As she walked by, she smiled and gave Potter a quick wave, which he returned. Draco certainly recognized the girl who followed. The youngest Weasel. The love of The Boy Who Lived. However, as she passed, she gave no sign that she had seen Potter, and he looked at his feet until she had gone. Draco was puzzled by this, but fearing the safety of his toes, said nothing.

The bride soon followed and as she made her way towards the platform, all the guests stood for her. Draco did not consider himself a guest and remained seated. As Fleur Delacour walked by, her long silver hair flying loose behind her, Draco had a fleeting thought most different from those of the other males present. As she made her way past him, he wondered if that was how his mother had looked when she married his father. Draco had been trying very hard not to let his emotions get the better of him since he had left Spinners End and he had been surprisingly successful, but from the back, the bride resembled his mother just enough that he couldn't stop his eyes tearing up. He was, for the first time of the day, frightfully glad for Potter's Invisibility Cloak.

Draco had always thought Narcissa Malfoy was the loveliest woman in the world and although he acknowledged that Fleur was indeed beautiful, he felt that, despite the small resemblance, she was no match for his mother. He sniffed as quietly as he could manage to keep his nose from running and hoped Potter hadn't heard. Potter's eyes remained fixed on the ceremony taking place ahead, though Draco noticed his brow furrow slightly. Praying Potter's facial expression was due to something happening up front, Draco quietly wiped his nose on the hem of the oversized t-shirt he was wearing (not something he normally ever would have done, but seeing as he was without a handkerchief and the shirt was practically a rag anyway, he made an exception).

After the ceremony was over, everyone went to the tables to eat the lunch that had magically appeared while the bride and groom had been saying their vows. Draco noticed Potter trying to intercept Granger, but the crowd was too thick and Potter was slowed down by his insistence that he keep a hand on Draco's arm to avoid losing him.

Draco obediently followed Potter's lead as he went from table to table until he finally found his assigned place setting. Potter had not been seated with his friends and it appeared as though he had been stuck with the guests at the bottom of the barrel, so to speak. Draco stood behind Potter's chair and watched him eat and feign interest in some great Weasley uncle's stories of giant cabbage farming near Cornwall.

Halfway through his cake, Potter spent a good thirty seconds staring wistfully in the direction of the table at which the wedding party was seated. Draco took this opportunity to steal the rest of the icing off Potter's cake.

When the meal was finally over and the band struck up a lively tune, Draco hoped Potter might say he had given up on talking to his friends and that they could leave, but his hopes were soon dashed. Pretending to drop his knife on the ground, Potter kneeled to pick it up and tugged on the bottom of the Invisibility Cloak, indicating for Draco to kneel with him.

"Right, I have to speak to Hermione. If I leave you out of the way over there, will you be all right to just wait for me for a few minutes?"

"Out of the question, Potter. What if someone walks into me or something? If I'm with you, it'll just look like you're clumsy, but if I'm all by myself, then there won't be anyone else to take the blame."

"Fine," said Potter, "but don't say anything. And remember that nothing she and I or anyone else talks about here is your business. I know I can't help you hearing it, but I don't want to have to acknowledge that you heard it later, so... so... just do whatever you need to do to pretend you're not here."

"Right, Potter," said Draco skeptically. "I'll do my best. But why not just cast that handy spell you were always using in Potions last year that made us all hear static for the whole class?"

"You knew about that?"

"Of course. I mean, the first three or four times I thought I was just losing my hearing, but after about ten I figured it out."

Potter stared pointedly about five inches to the right of where Draco was actually kneeling and said, "Because I promised myself I wouldn't use that spell anymore."

"Right," said Draco, "I won't ask. Anyway, we've been down here for almost a minute and people may begin to wonder just what you're doing under the table all by yourself, so why don't we go find Granger and get this over with."

Draco followed close behind Potter as he weaved his way through the crowd towards where Granger was chatting with an Auror Draco recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt. He couldn't help but notice that Potter made an abrupt correction in his path to avoid coming too close to Ginny Weasley, which caused them to walk in a loop before they actually reached their destination.

"Hermione." Potter tapped her on the shoulder. "Can we talk?"

"Sure," she said and politely ended her conversation with Shacklebolt, then followed Potter down the path to the Weasley house, where the two Gryffindors sat on the back steps. Draco had no intention of not listening, so he sat quietly in the grass just a few feet away.

"So, what's up, Harry?"

"Well, I wanted to say sorry for not telling you and Ron about my split with Ginny. I mean, I know I should have told you, but the only chance I really had was on the train ride home, and well, we were just talking about other things and it slipped my mind. I know that sounds awful, but my brain is a really full place right now – this'll sound weird, I know, but after that, for some reason, I just thought you knew."

Granger patted Potter on the shoulder. "It's fine, Harry. I completely understand. Ginny elaborated on why you broke up with her and honestly I think you made the right choice."

"You do? Thanks, Hermione." Potter smiled at her and she smiled back. Then he asked a bit awkwardly, "Er, how is she?"

"Well, she's not so good, to be honest."

"What? She was fine when I did it. She said she didn't agree with me, but she – she seemed fine! Why's she upset now?"

"Why do you think, Harry? She misses you. And, yes, she may have understood a week ago, but since then she's had a bit of time to think about it and when someone's distanced from a situation that they don't like, well, it can become easy for them to put a lot of blame on the other person and make them look like the baddie. So, well, she's quite mad at you now."

"Well, that's just stupid," Potter said. Draco felt that Potter was truly a master of articulation. "How can she be so upset? The breakup is for her own safety. Why is she being so immature?"

"I know it may seem 'stupid,' Harry, but she really likes you, and I think it's easier for her to be angry than just accept that it's over. At least for now."

Potter sighed. "All right. And what about Ron?"

"Well, he's not particularly happy with you, either. I've tried to explain to him why it's for the best, but all he seems to be able to understand is that you've hurt his little sister and he says he doesn't want to see you right now. In fact, none of the Weasley children really do, from what I gather."

"That explains a lot." Draco had to agree. He had been marveling at how miraculously Weasley-free his day had been. "Well, I'm just going to have to talk with Ron and try and explain to him – "

"Harry, I told you, I tried already. I think he knows it's for the best, really, but he's determined to be cross with you. I haven't had time to talk to Bill because of everything that's been going on here, but Charlie seems to be receptive to the fact that you were acting in Ginny's best interests. The twins are as angry as Ron, but then again I haven't really tried to explain anything to them yet."

"Right," said Potter. "I can't believe this. We're in the middle of a war and all they can think of is that Ginny's feelings got hurt, not that I might have just saved her life – again."

Granger shrugged. "It's an older brother thing, I suppose. I'm not really sure how Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are. I haven't had time to talk to them, but I think they'll agree that it's for the best, at least. I certainly wouldn't take it personally if either of them don't say hello, anyway. Ginny switched your seating assignment and they're both too wrapped up in wedding business to go out of their way to find anyone, even you.

"Anyway, Harry, listen. You can't worry about all that right now. I'll keep talking to all of them and I'm sure everything will blow over. But in the meantime, you have work to do. With Ron the way he is now, we can't leave for Godric's Hollow yet, but I think there might be quite a lot we can do at Grimmauld Place. I think I might have worked out who R.A.B is." Potter gave her a look that clearly said to stop talking. "What?" she asked.

"Er, I don't think it's safe to talk about that here... There's a lot of people around. Anyone could be listening."

Draco rolled his eyes. Really, who did Potter think he was going to tell? He didn't even know what they were talking about.

"Harry, we're completely alone. Everyone else is at the party."

"Look, I'll explain later. But you're just going to have to come to Grimmauld Place because we've been saying way more in owls than we should have and it's not like I can very well come here now. And see if you can bring Ron, all right?"

"Fine," said Granger. "Anyway, we should get back. But Harry, I do have a lot to tell you, so I'll come over as soon as I can. And I'll see if I can convince Ron to come along." They stood to go, but then Granger grabbed Potter's arm and said, "Oh, and Harry, I was thinking you might want to let Lupin in on some of this. Perhaps not everything, but I think we need someone older to help us. I mean, without Dumbledore, there's only so much we'll be able to figure out on our own without taking a lifetime to do it. I would have suggested Mr. Weasley, but as you and Lupin will be staying together now, I reckon he's the best choice."

Potter nodded. "I've been thinking the same thing."

"Good. Now let's go."

All three of them walked back to the clearing where the party was still in full swing. As they made their way there, Draco couldn't help but be mildly curious as to what the Gryffindors were thinking of "letting Lupin in on." Once they made it back, the Weasel came over and, completely ignoring Potter, grabbed Granger's hand and dragged her to the dance floor like a caveman claiming his mate. Among the many dancing couples, Draco spotted Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, as well as the bride and groom. And over to the side, sitting in a chair and looking glum, he saw Ginny Weasley, the topic of much frustration, tapping her foot in time to the music. "Wait here," Potter muttered. "I have to talk to someone else. I'll be right back, I just don't want you to have to weave through the crowd." Draco watched him jog over to Ginny and grab her by the wrist, pulling her away from her chair. Potter gestured to him to follow as he led the girl down towards the house, where they had gone with Granger. But as they approached the steps, all three of them stopped at the sounds of sobbing coming from just around the right side of the house.

"I just d-don't understand," sniffed the voice of Draco's cousin, Nymphadora. "We held hands at the funeral!"

"I know," said Lupin, in what Draco thought sounded like a very tired voice. "And again, Nymphadora, I'm sorry, but it seemed like the right thing to do. You were upset and I'm your friend. I thought I had made myself clear before that, but I suppose I hadn't."

"No. You've been sending me m-m-mixed messages for ages. First you give me all the reasons why we can't see each other, then you were perfectly nice to me at that one Order meeting, but then when I asked again you told me off. And at Hogwarts, I thought we'd decided to see each other, so at the funeral – "

"I'm sorry if you took my friendship for mixed messages. I simply didn't want your feelings to get in the way of that, and I thought acting normally would make things less awkward. And as for that day at Hogwarts in the hospital wing, I don't think we decided anything," said Remus firmly. "We were all upset and I don't think I said one thing to suggest that I wanted a romantic relationship with you – quite the contrary. And you put me on the spot there at a very awkward time. I wasn't about to be harsh in front of all those people, and certainly not when we had all suffered such a great loss. Being harsh isn't like me, anyway, but now it seems that I have no choice. And as for the funeral, well, I'm sorry Nymphadora, but as I have already said, you were very upset, and we're friends, so I did the _friendly_ thing."

"You don't know anything about women, Remus Lupin!" Nymphadora exclaimed. "You don't know anything at all. And don't think I haven't got any ideas about why. Friends my arse." Potter quickly hid around the other side of the house and pulled Ginny with him as Nymphadora stormed off back towards the party.

A few moments later Draco heard Lupin say, his voice once again slow and fatigued, "No, I suppose I don't know much about women."

Potter waited until Lupin's footsteps had faded away before he turned to Ginny. "So," he said, finally, "what's all this about you being angry with me?"

"Hermione's lying," said the littlest Weasley with her arms crossed. "I'm not angry. I know why you chucked me and I don't like it and I think it's stupid and that you don't know what you're doing, but I'm not angry."

"Of course you are! You think I can't tell?" She sniffed and looked back towards the clearing. "Listen," said Potter, "if being angry with me is what you need to do to be okay with this, then fine. I'm only trying to save your life, Ginny. But please, tell Ron to talk to me again. I know I can't make you forgive me, but it's nothing to do with him."

"I think you should go, Harry."

"But I haven't even seen Bill and Fleur yet –"

"_Go_, Harry!"

Potter didn't wait to be told twice. "Where's the washroom?" he said, obviously not caring if Ginny thought he was nuts, and as Draco tapped his shoulder lightly to confirm his presence, they set off back towards the party to retrieve Potter's wool cloak, leaving Ginny sobbing by the house. After the cloak had been found, the two boys started walking towards the trees where they had left their luggage when Lupin intercepted Potter and said, "Harry, I think I'm going to head out. I'll see you at the house, all right?"

"Oh, well, I was actually just getting my things. We can catch the bus together, if you like."

Lupin waited while Potter and his invisible companion gathered their luggage and together they walked to the road where Lupin stuck out his wand arm for the Knight Bus. Stan Shunpike had still not been released, so it was just the old wizard Ernie Prang who was in charge of the bus now, and things were a bit slow going. He tried to help Potter with his trunk but couldn't lift it, so Lupin, impatient to leave, levitated everything and stowed it above the seats. The ride passed in silence. Even Draco could tell Lupin and Potter were both in foul moods (not that his was much better) as they both sat there in heavy silence, broken only by the guttural noises made by the bus.

The bus had to drop Madam Marsh off first and then a woman who Draco thought looked like a hag had to go to Manchester, so it took a good twenty minutes until the bus came to a stop on a decrepit-looking Muggle street. Draco prayed Potter's London house wasn't one of these appalling buildings. He didn't think he could bear such squalor. He looked at Potter and saw that he had a pained expression on his face as he viewed his surroundings. Perhaps Potter was none too fond of this place either. Then, suddenly, he asked, "Prof – er, Remus. Who's Secret Keeper now for the Order? I mean, couldn't anyone just walk up to the house and blow it up or something now, with Dumbledore gone?"

Lupin laughed in what sounded like disbelief. "No one has told you, Harry?"

Potter shook his head. "Told me what?"

"Well, I suppose we all have been rather busy; I'd only assumed Minerva or someone...Well, anyway, Harry. In Dumbledore's will, he did not just state to whom he wished his possessions to go (though I believe you have acquired some of those as well – I'll look into that later), but also certain spells." Potter looked confused. "You see, there are certain spells, like the Fidelius Charm, which require someone to hold on to the magic, you might say, and in the event that that the spell's caster becomes physically incapable of holding that magic anymore, then he or she can stipulate to whom the magic should pass. So, Harry, Dumbledore made you Secret Keeper in his will. It only makes sense, as Grimmauld Place belongs to you."

Potter seemed relieved and, smiling, said, "The headquarters of The Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."

"Harry, what're you..." Lupin began.

Draco was also momentarily confused, but before his very eyes the building Potter spoke of grew out of nowhere and understanding dawned.

"Hang on till we're inside and then I'll explain everything," Potter said to Lupin and climbed the stairs to the front door.


	3. Second Chances

**Second Chances**

As he stepped through the door, Harry held a finger up to his lips, more for the benefit of Malfoy than Remus, who already knew perfectly well to be quiet in the hall near Mrs. Black's portrait. Harry could tell Remus was becoming more and more confused by the second, but he conceded to follow Harry to the kitchen all the same. Once downstairs, Harry closed the door and asked, "Remus, you don't know if anyone else from the Order is here right now, do you?"

"No, Harry. No one should be by today. I think most of them are at the wedding, but what's going on? This is all getting very strange."

"Okay. Remus, I'm going to tell you something really important – not even Ron and Hermione know. You're the only one."

"All right," said Remus calmly. "Go on."

"I've seen Draco Malfoy."

"What? Where? Harry, was Snape with him? Was Voldemort? Why didn't you tell someone –"

"No, no, it's not like that – he – I – I mean, he wants to switch sides."

"Harry, how can you – you can't possibly be suggesting we can trust him? Look at what happened with Snape – Dumbledore trusted him for years and just look what happened!"

"It's not the same. Malfoy didn't come to me spouting some nonsense about repentance like Snape did to Dumbledore. Malfoy was completely honest about why he wants to switch. He said that Voldemort wanted to kill him and so he ran away. He had nowhere else to go." Harry could hardly have believed two days ago that he would be arguing a case for Draco Malfoy, yet now it seemed quite important that Remus be convinced.

"But, Harry," said Remus, concern replacing the anger on his face, "why on earth should you, of all people, wish to help someone like Draco Malfoy? After everything he's done to you – to all of us?"

"He says he has information for us. And Remus, there's something I didn't tell anyone about the night Snape murdered Dumbledore, because at the time I didn't really think it was that important. When Malfoy couldn't kill Dumbledore, Dumbledore offered him the chance to switch. I was there and I saw. Malfoy was seconds from agreeing before the Death Eaters showed up. And I know Dumbledore wouldn't want us to let Voldemort kill Malfoy. He might have been wrong about Snape, but he's been right about so many other people who no one else would have taken a chance on – Hagrid, Firenze, Sirius…even you. He would've given Malfoy the benefit of the doubt, even after everything with Snape."

Remus furrowed his brow and ran a hand through his graying hair. "Harry, I'm really not sure it this is a good idea, and if it weren't for what you've just said about Dumbledore, I'd say we should just hand Draco Malfoy over to the Aurors and be done with it." Remus sat down at the table and said sadly, "Harry, I'm the first person to admit the Ministry has problems when it comes to criminal justice. I know if Malfoy goes to Azkaban, he won't have a much better chance of survival than if he returns to Voldemort… but all the same, I just don't know if we can trust him."

"But, Remus," said Harry firmly, looking his old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher squarely in the eyes, "you've just said it yourself. If we don't help him, he'll die. I'm not saying we should go right ahead and make him an Order member, but we can't just sit back and allow him to be murdered."

Remus nodded. Harry knew Remus couldn't stand idly by and allow the murder of someone who might be innocent. He had seen so many people die needlessly already.

"So, you agree that we should help him, then?"

"I agree that we should hear him out. He's very young and the idea of sending a boy to his certain death, regardless of the circumstances, would be cruel. Where's Malfoy now?"

"He's, er, someplace safe."

"Well, nowhere is absolutely secure. First thing tomorrow, I'd like you to take me to him, and if after I've talked to him, I decide that there's a chance he's telling the truth, then we'll see what can be done."

"Remus, the thing is, he actually is somewhere quite safe, and I think it might be better if you talked to him now."

Remus gave Harry a penetrating stare. "Now? Harry, what are you saying?"

Harry didn't answer, but as Remus looked from his eyes to the seemingly empty air behind him where Malfoy stood, comprehension dawned. Harry looked behind himself as well and Malfoy took off the Invisibility Cloak. "I've been with Potter since last night. I went to find him at the Muggle house."

Remus stared at Malfoy, dumbfounded. "I… I'm pleased that you've made the right choice. Please excuse my doubting you; I'm sure you understand why, and I'm certain you'll be able to put my anxieties regarding the matter to rest."

Malfoy nodded. "Like Potter said, he would've killed me. He's already killed my mother."

"What?" asked Harry. "You never told me… Malfoy, I… I'm sorry. Why didn't you say something?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It didn't come up. And I didn't want you to think we shared some bond or anything – both having parents killed by the Dark Lord."

Normally Harry would have been hard-pressed not to hit Malfoy for even mentioning his parents' murders, but this was different. There was no contempt in Malfoy's voice. He was simply stating a fact.

"Well," said Lupin glancing around the kitchen awkwardly, at an apparent loss as to what he ought to say, "I suppose we ought to have some dinner. Draco, you must be hungry. I can't imagine you got much to eat at the wedding."

"No," said Malfoy, "I didn't. Thanks to you," he added, looking pointedly at Harry.

"I don't know what you expected me to do – ask for extra for my invisible friend? And to be fair, I didn't say anything when you took the icing off my cake."

"You saw that?" Malfoy feigned shock. "And I thought I had done it so covertly."

After the three of them had eaten and Remus and Harry had cleaned the dishes, they all decided it might be a good idea to start getting settled for bed, even though it was still relatively early. "But tomorrow, I think all three of us need to sit down and discuss exactly what is going on. Draco, I know this may be difficult for you after what you've been through recently, but you're going to have to tell Harry and me everything – all about Voldemort, and Snape, and the rest of the Death Eaters."

Malfoy had flinched when Remus said the name, but all the same his resolve seemed strong, and he said, "I know. That's been my intent all along."

"Er, Remus, are you going to tell the rest of the Order about Malfoy?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea just yet, Harry. I may have been relatively easy to win over. Like you said, I know what it's like to not be given a chance, but not everyone else in the Order does. None of them are going to forget what Snape did to Dumbledore, and I'm afraid they'll be hard-pressed to see the difference between Snape's situation sixteen years ago and Draco's now. Though there is a difference, of course," Remus added hastily to Malfoy.

"Right," said Harry. "I agree."

"Draco?" asked Remus. "Does this sound all right to you? It means you'll have to keep hidden when there are other people in the house, which can be quite often, since this is Order headquarters."

"That's fine. I'd rather not overly involve myself, anyway. I'm only here because I want the Dark Lord and Snape to be defeated, not because I want to help your cause."

"Malfoy, it's when you say things like that that I wonder whether or not I'm doing the right thing," said Harry heatedly.

"Don't be an idiot, Potter. That's why you trusted me in the first place – because I'm _not_ pretending to be some Muggle-loving blood traitor. There are simply some things we're going to have to agree to disagree on."

The fact that Malfoy had actually used the term "agree to disagree" placated Harry some and he said, "Fine, but remember that you're in my house and you're not dead yet because of me. I won't try to change your mind about things you believe, since I know it would just be a losing battle, but you can't act like we're back at school and you can just say things to rile me up."

"Potter, since I came to you yesterday, have I once insulted you or any of your friends?"

"No. Not quite outwardly, but you've come close. I know there have been times you've wanted to."

"Well, I'm only human. I'll hold my tongue, but you can't attack me for what I think. I'm serious about surviving, Potter, and I'm not about to fuck it up because I enjoy making you angry too much." Malfoy stared pointedly at Harry for a moment, until he suddenly remembered they were not alone. "Er, sorry, Professor."

"I am no longer your teacher, Draco, and as long as it's not particularly offensive, you can say what you must in front of me."

"Right," said Harry, "let's find you a room. I don't want that one with Phineas Nigellus's portrait in it, and I don't think you should take it either, as the other one is in McGonagall's office. Remus, which room have you been sleeping in?"

"Oh, I've taken Sirius's room."

"You wouldn't rather the room you had when you stayed here last time?" Harry asked.

"I think the room Fred and George stayed in has remained clean of anything dangerous, and so has the room Hermione and Ginny slept in, so why don't you two take those. I'll see you both tomorrow."

Remus left the kitchen rather quickly and as Harry heard his footsteps die away he said, "That was strange."

Malfoy smirked.

"What?" asked Harry.

Malfoy raised a questioning eyebrow. When Harry only stared back in confusion, Malfoy said, "All right then, Potter, escort me to my apartments. I'm beginning to feel a bit wilted."

The two of them went upstairs and retrieved their luggage from the foyer, then proceeded to the third floor. Once Harry had shown Malfoy the room where he would stay (Hermione and Ginny's old bedroom), Malfoy turned to Harry and said, "So, this was Sirius Black's house?" Harry nodded. "I came here for a family reunion once, I think, when I small. Of course, Aunt Bellatrix was in Azkaban and Aunt Andromeda wasn't invited, so it was a rather small reunion…"

"I forgot it was your family that used to live here."

Malfoy shrugged. "My mother's aunt and uncle. We didn't see much of them. I think my parents were ashamed of Regulus and Sirius. And now, what would they think of me?"

Harry thought Malfoy was probably speaking more to himself than to Harry, so, bidding the other boy a hasty goodnight, he retreated to the room next door, where Fred and George had once stayed. Unsurprisingly, it smelled slightly as if things had been burned in there – perhaps hair – and somehow Harry found this rather comforting. Knowing there was a good chance he would be there for some time, he unpacked most of his trunk. He had let Hedwig out that morning to spare her the journey and she had not yet turned up at Grimmauld Place.

Unpacking didn't take very long – only fifteen minutes, since Harry didn't have much to unpack – so even though it was only 8:30 when he finished, he had nothing better to do than go to sleep. He didn't fancy the idea of wandering around the house at night by himself.

Draco didn't go right to bed when he left Potter and went into his assigned room. He didn't have any clothes to unpack, other than the Muggle suit he had been carrying in his rucksack, nor did he have any pajamas to change into, so he simply sat on the single bed in the corner and stared at the wall. The room was drab and colorless. There were no windows and aside from the sagging bed, the only furniture was an armoire, in which Draco hung his suit, and a small square table next to the bed with a smoky oil-lamp on it that had ignited when he entered.

When Draco had come here as a child, he remembered more decoration than he saw now. He supposed that when Sirius Black had moved in, he had purged the house of much of its character in a desire to forget his past. The walls now showed the unmistakable signs of having once been covered by pictures or mirrors where the wallpaper was lighter and less discolored. Although the room was dull, in a way Draco, too, was glad for the absence of things that might remind him too much of his own childhood.

Draco had purposely omitted his aunt's involvement in Narcissa's death when he told Lupin and Potter about it. Even though he knew there was no way she could find him at Grimmauld Place, she still terrified him. During those weeks spent learning Occlumency, the mere thought of which now made him shudder, he had felt as if he was in the company of someone who had received a Dementor's Kiss, yet retained the ability to fully function even without a soul.

And now the fact that it had actually been his own flesh and blood that had obliterated his mother's life made Draco's chest seize up and his stomach lurch violently. The thought of Bellatrix made him feel five years old… made him feel that he ought to apologize to her for Narcissa's death. Somehow Bellatrix held a power over him. Once she had fascinated Draco; he had wished to emulate her and had been eager for what she could to teach him. But now everything was different. Now she haunted him like a specter that whispered frightening thoughts to him – telling him how all the things that had gone wrong in the past few months were his own fault – not Snape's fault or even hers, but Draco's fault alone. And try as might to keep the blame pinned on Snape, Draco knew it really was his action, or lack of action, that had caused Bellatrix to kill his mother.

As Harry hadn't been particularly tired when he turned in, he woke up only four hours later, at half past midnight. He stretched and turned on the lamp next to his bed. The light was dim and didn't hurt his eyes. He stretched again and got up, intending to use the washroom. As he passed by Malfoy's room, he paused. Putting his ear up to the door, he heard the unmistakable sounds of muffled sobs. This was the second time he had unintentionally heard Malfoy cry (not counting the sniffle he's heard earlier at the wedding, which he couldn't be sure had been the result of tears or not), and this time didn't feel any less awkward. But remembering what had happened the last time when Malfoy caught him, Harry hurried on to the washroom and tried to forget about what he had just heard.

A few minutes later, when he was back in bed, Harry unsurprisingly found sleep hard to come by. This meant that his thoughts were free to wander, and before long they settled on the subject of the crying boy next door. Although Harry had now only encountered Malfoy crying twice that he could be sure of, that number somehow seemed like a lot, and he wondered if, in fact, Malfoy wasn't just as weepy as Cho Chang, only a bit better at hiding it. But then, Harry supposed, Malfoy had good reason to cry. Although he hadn't seemed particularly bothered by it, his mother was dead – murdered by Voldemort. Harry had never actually cried over his parents' murders, but that was probably because he was very distanced from them. It wasn't that he didn't feel anything in regards to what had happened to them sixteen years earlier – anyone who knew him in the slightest knew that he was deeply affected by it – but he had come to terms with the murders a long time ago. Malfoy hadn't. And Harry then felt something he had become rather familiar over the past week – a slight twinge of pity for his old rival.

Harry went down to the kitchen the next morning to find a fire crackling in the hearth and both Remus and Malfoy already awake. Remus was seated at the table, sipping a mug of tea and reading the _Prophet_; Malfoy was seated across from him, eating a piece of toast. Despite Malfoy's late night, Harry thought he looked relatively well rested. In fact, Remus looked far worse, though this was not unusual. "'Morning," Harry said sleepily.

Malfoy nodded at Harry in acknowledgement of his presence and Remus folded the paper, saying, "Good morning, Harry. Tea?"

Harry nodded and went to the cupboard to get a mug. "Please." Remus took the cup and conjured him some tea before handing it back. "Thanks."

"Well, now that we're all here," said Remus, "I think we ought to start considering this meeting we've got to have. Do you want to change first and meet back here in a few minutes?"

"Why change?" asked Malfoy. "We're not going out… not that I have anything to change into, anyway." Harry then realized that Malfoy was still wearing the clothes he had loaned him two days ago. He must have slept in them as well, Harry assumed.

Remus glanced at Harry, at an obvious loss for what to say. "Well, I don't have to change. Pajamas are fine," said Harry. "Let's just start now." Malfoy nodded and chewed the remaining bite of his toast.

"All right then, let's begin," said Remus. "Well, I suppose my first question is, Draco, what happened after you and Snape Disapparated the night Dumbledore died?"

Draco took a deep breath and launched into his story – how Snape had hid him because of the Unbreakable Vow and how once it had been broken (really, "unbreakable" was a bit of a misnomer), Snape had made him leave.

"Wait, Bellatrix Lestrange murdered her own sister?" Potter asked, shocked.

"She'd do anything for the Dark Lord, Potter. It's not the first time she's killed family." Draco noticed anger flicker over both of his listeners' faces and suddenly he remembered that Potter had been Sirius Black's godson. Draco hadn't known they were close, but now that he thought about it, Black had left Potter the house, hadn't he? And Draco was beginning to have suspicions regarding Lupin's apparent hatred of Bellatrix, as well, but of course, there was no way to be sure, and Draco wasn't particularly interested anyway.

"Well, then what?" Potter asked.

"I left," Draco continued, and then recounted his visit to the Lake District in more detail than he had on the night he had turned up at Potter's doorstep.

"Draco," Lupin asked once he had reached the part about Apparating to Privet Drive, "how did you know where Harry lived?"

"Before I left Snape's, Wormtail gave me some sort of master list of contact information for Hogwarts students. I'm not really sure why." Draco didn't mention the letters or memories Wormtail had given him yet. He needed to be careful not to play all his cards at once. He had to be sure Lupin and Potter wouldn't decide he had served his purpose and kick him out, like Snape had. Draco had looked through some of the letters and there wasn't anything glaringly important in them – it wouldn't hurt anyone if he kept these things secret a bit longer.

"Did he?" Lupin asked. "I suppose it's no wonder Snape had such a list, as all Hogwarts teachers do, but I can't think of why Wormtail thought it important for you to have it… or Snape to lose it."

"So, what's Snape doing now?"

"Potter, I told you when I came to you my information was correct but limited. Why would Snape tell me what he was doing?"

"Well, I just thought you'd be able to tell me a bit more than that he has a dusty house."

"I may not be able to tell you what he's doing, but as you may have noticed, I was able to tell you exactly where he lives and I know his house contains at least one secret passageway."

Potter looked aggravated and Lupin said, "Actually, Harry, that is quite important. I don't think anyone knew Snape had a house, much less in a mostly Muggle area. Most Hogwarts professors live at the school year-round. Now, when the time comes, we'll know just where to find Snape and Pettigrew."

"So, let's just go get him now, then! What're we waiting for?"

"Harry, if it were that simple, not many Death Eaters would be able to avoid capture for long. The skilled ones, like Snape, are quite adept at staying hidden and I guarantee you he has plenty of protection on that house… plenty of spells for the purpose of keeping out unwanted visitors. I'll present this information at the next Order meeting – say I got an anonymous tip – and I'm sure we'll think of a way to use it to our advantage."

Potter didn't seem entirely satisfied, but he mumbled, "Fine."

Draco wanted to catch Snape, too, but he had to agree with Lupin. That house had more to it than met the eye, and just barging in there would be stupid and probably impossible.

"And what about Voldemort?" Potter asked. "Do you know where he is?"

"Yes," Draco replied, shuddering. He wished Potter and Lupin would stop throwing the Dark Lord's name about. "But I can't tell you where he is any more than I can tell him where you are."

"What do you mean?"

Draco shook his head and looked down at the table. "What I mean, Potter, is that his headquarters is protected by the Fidelius Charm, just like your house is. I can't tell you where it is." Draco turned to Lupin. "I suppose you knew this?"

"Well, yes. Snape had always said he couldn't tell us where to find Voldemort because of the Fidelius Charm, but after his betrayal I had wondered whether or not he had just been lying the whole time."

"He wasn't," Draco said.

"Who's the Secret Keeper?" Potter asked. "Maybe we can find them."

"There's only one person Voldemort would trust with a secret like that," Lupin said.

"Himself," Potter muttered, realization dawning on his face. "Well, that's useless. Remus, you're quite sure there's no way the Fidelius Charm can be broken, other than killing the Secret Keeper?"

"Not that anyone knows of, Harry. That doesn't mean it's impossible, but if the charm can be broken, then the way to do so is either very well hidden or has not yet been discovered. Dumbledore didn't know of a way, and if Voldemort did, things may have turned out very differently thus far."

Lupin and Potter seemed to lose themselves in some sort of meaningful silence, and after a few moments Draco asked awkwardly, "Is there anything else you'd like to know right now?"

Lupin looked up. "No, Draco. Not just yet. I'm sure we haven't yet heard everything you can tell us, but I have a feeling your most useful information may be things that you haven't even thought of.

"My, we've been at this for sometime." Lupin looked at the clock on the wall next to the oven. "Why don't we –"

But Lupin didn't say what they ought to do; rather, he held up a hand to signal silence, and then Draco heard the unmistakable sound of someone coming down the stairs. Quite suddenly, Potter put his hand on Draco's head and shoved him under the large wooden kitchen table just as the door opened and Draco saw a pair of feet wearing Muggle trainers step into the kitchen. "Hope I'm not interrupting. I didn't want to make too much noise around that awful portrait."

"No, Hermione, you're not interrupting anything. Harry and I were just having some breakfast. Harry, why don't you take Hermione upstairs and I'll clean up down here."

Draco was pleased to hear that at least Lupin didn't seem to fluster easily.

"Actually, Professor, when you're done down here, maybe you could join us? Harry and I discussed it yesterday and we decided that with Dumbledore, er, _gone_, it might be a good idea to let you in on some of what he and Harry were doing this year."

"Oh," said Lupin, sounding rather taken aback, yet touched. "Yes, I'd be happy to know. Just give me a few minutes to put some proper clothes on after I tidy up down here." Draco, who was kneeling by Lupin's feet, looked up and saw him gesture at his frayed dressing gown. "Hardly appropriate for company."

Once Potter and Granger had left the room, Draco crawled out from under the table. "That was unexpected."

"Well, you may want to learn to expect it. As I told you last night, staying here means at times being in close proximity with people who consider you to be the enemy. Usually you'll have some warning, but on occasion guests do turn up unannounced."

Draco nodded and watched as Lupin used his wand to clean the few dishes they had used for breakfast and return them to the cupboard.

"So, Draco, while Harry, Hermione, and I catch up, what would you like to do?"

"Pardon?"

"It's an interesting house, Draco. You don't have to sit in the kitchen watching dust collect."

"Then I'll go exploring."

Lupin thought about this for a second. "Perhaps not just yet. It's an interesting house, but dangerous, too. I'd rather if you didn't wander around by yourself. But there's an extensive library in Sirius's room I could show you before I join Harry and Hermione."

Harry and Hermione made their way upstairs, careful to make as little noise as possible near Mrs. Black, and sat in the drawing room that they had rid of doxies together almost two years earlier. "How are you?" Hermione asked, sitting on a sofa. "We didn't really have time to get into much yesterday."

"I'm all right." Harry came close to saying, "other than the fact that I'm in complete shock after hearing what Draco Malfoy has been up to for the past week," but decided it would be best to hear Hermione's news first and sat down opposite her in an armchair.

"That's good. Listen, Harry, before we start on about everything else, about Ron –"

"Oh no, he's not still furious, is he?"

"Well, we talked a lot last night. He wasn't happy that you confronted Ginny yesterday."

Harry raised his hands and dropped them into his lap in frustration. "I was apologizing!"

"Yes, well, your apology upset her," said Hermione, with the look on her face that she reserved specially for girls whose seemingly silly behavior she understood, but did not condone. "Anyway, Harry, Ron was really angry, but I think I calmed him down some. I couldn't get him to come with me today, but I think he might be persuaded next time."

"That's good, at least. Hermione, do you think I should owl him or something, try and explain everything myself?"

"Apologizing is hard for both of you. Trust me, I've had to see you both do it enough, and I think in this situation you should wait for him to come to you and _then_ explain. Of course, he'll already have heard it all because I'll've told him, but I think he should hear it from you as well, just not 'til he's ready."

"You're right, of course. I just don't like him being cross with me. Especially now, of all times."

"I know," said Hermione, "but now we need to get down to business. Harry, I think I know who R.A.B is."

"Right! That's what you yesterday – what'd you find out?"

"Well, it just sort of came to me the other night as I was falling asleep. I was thinking about all sorts of things and it all just came together," she said excitedly. "I was thinking about Malfoy and how Voldemort must be mad at him for not being able to stomach killing Dumbledore. And then I was thinking about all the other people we've lost, and so I thought of Sirius."

"Hermione, get on with it!"

"I'm getting there. Anyway, once I started thinking about Sirius it hit me."

"Hermione, I don't understand –"

"Harry, look!" Hermione took his hand and dragged him over the tapestry with the Black family tree on it. "Look, there." Hermione pointed not at Sirius, but at the name next to his: Regulus Black. "It all makes sense, Harry. That note – R.A.B knew Voldemort was going to kill him, and we know that Voldemort killed Regulus. Maybe before Voldemort killed him, Regulus somehow found out about the Horcruxes."

"I dunno, Hermione… Sirius said Regulus was a real coward and –"

"Ahem." Harry and Hermione turned from the tapestry to the door, where Remus stood wearing a set of robes just as shabby as the dressing gown he had swapped for them.

"Okay, Hermione, we can finish talking about this later. For now, let's fill Remus in on what's been happening and then we can see what he thinks."

Harry told Remus about the Horcruxes, which ones had been found and his suspicions about the others (which were few and vague at best), but decided to leave out everything about Dumbledore and the Pensieve, as well as the finer details regarding their trip to Voldemort's cave, which felt somehow very personal to Harry. Remus listened in complete silence with rapt attention, hardly even blinking, it seemed, for fear of missing any small piece of information, but didn't question Harry for more than he seemed willing to give.

"Well, that all makes perfect sense. It explains everything, doesn't it? Now what was it you wanted my opinion on?"

"Well, like Harry said. That one Horcrux – the locket he and Dumbledore found that didn't really end up being a Horcrux at all – there was a note in it from someone with the initials R.A.B. saying they had taken the real Horcrux and planned on destroying it."

"It sounded like they had nothing to lose because they said they knew they'd be dead by the time Voldemort discovered the real Horcrux was gone." Harry took the locket out of his pocket – he still always kept it with him – and took out the note to show to Remus.

Remus did not just read the note, but seemed to study it for about a minute, then asked, "So, you want to know if I have any idea who this person is?"

"I have an idea, actually," said Hermione. "That's what we wanted your opinion on.

Harry's not sure he agrees with me, but I'm convinced it was Sirius's brother Regulus."

Remus furrowed his brow and, like Hermione, went to examine the tapestry. Fairly quickly, he turned to them and said, "Harry, I think Hermione could be right. This person could very well have been a Death Eater if he discovered such personal information regarding Voldemort, and off the top of my head, Regulus is the only one I can think of with those initials. His middle name was Arcturus."

"I've checked it out already, and Regulus _is_ the only Death Eater on record with those initials. Harry, I'd been going about it all wrong before when I was looking for someone who fought against Voldemort. It never occurred to me that it could have been a disgruntled follower. Not one of the names I found before we left school made any sense," Hermione said. "Obviously there are some holes in this theory, but it's much more probable than anything else we've tossed about."

"But Sirius told me Regulus probably wasn't actually killed by Voldemort because he was just a deserter. Sirius made him out to be a real coward and whoever took that Horcrux must've been really brave." Harry remembered crossing the Inferni filled lake and Dumbledore's screams as Harry forced him to drink the liquid covering the locket. "It's not the kind of thing a really cowardly person could have handled."

"But Harry, do you really know exactly why Voldemort wanted Regulus dead?" Remus asked, sitting back down on the sofa next to Hermione. Harry glanced at her, but she seemed lost in thought. "For all we know, it was because Voldemort suspected Regulus was too clever for his own good. And Sirius wouldn't have been exactly objective when it came to a family member like Regulus. If we're right about this and Regulus had some reason to turn against Voldemort other than pure cowardice, Sirius wouldn't have known, because by then he wasn't in contact with any of the other Blacks."

Harry considered this. All of the pieces seemed to fall together quite nicely. It was just that… "I suppose. I just feel a bit bad that Sirius would've died without knowing his brother was an all right person after all. I mean, here he was alone in this house for a year, and he hated it because he thought his whole family had worshipped the ground Voldemort walked on… and… and, well, maybe it wouldn't've been so bad for him if he had known that at least one of them hadn't been completely mad."

Remus looked back at the tapestry again and a faint hint of something Harry couldn't place passed over Remus's face before he answered. "I see your point, Harry, but just because Regulus may have gotten his hands on that Horcrux, and, God willing, destroyed it, doesn't mean that he was, as his mother would have called him, a blood traitor. Just because people make good choices, Harry, does not always mean that they make them with noble intentions."

The three of them sat there in silence for several minutes, each with their own thoughts running helter-skelter through their minds, whizzing over the new information they had received. Harry had completely forgotten about everything other than the locket Horcrux and everything surrounding it until Remus asked, "Well, Harry, do you think it's time Hermione met our house guest?"

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, I almost forgot," said Harry. "Why don't you explain and I'll go fetch him. Where is he?"

"He's in my – er, Sirius's room. I thought he might enjoy the library there."

"Right," said Harry standing and heading for the door. "I'll be right down, then."


	4. Malleus Mallificarum

Harry left the drawing room and climbed the stairs to the third floor, where he put his ear up to the first door on his left. Fairly certain that Malfoy wasn't crying, he cracked the door open and peered in. Malfoy was sitting on the floor in front of the bookshelf that took up the entire right wall of the master bedroom. His head was bowed over a small leather-bound volume in his lap.

"What're you reading?" Harry asked as he entered the room. Malfoy looked up and held the book out to Harry, who took it and flipped to the title page. "_Malleus Malficarum_... What's this?" Harry flipped through its pages and found that the whole thing was written in a language he did not understand. There were pictures plainly depicting people being burned at the stake or tortured with looks of great agony stretched across their gaunt faces.

"Potter, you are frightfully uneducated. You don't speak any Latin at all? Hmm, well, I suppose you wouldn't, would you? Here's a little lesson not covered in your History of Magic class. Once upon a time, there were some pious men who believed in the existence of witches. They believed, in fact, that these women were the Dark Prince's brides who fornicated with him often. Living only to do Satan's bidding, the witches did everything in their power to ruin the lives of good, God-fearing people. And, of course, these righteous men couldn't have that. They rooted out all these evil women and burned them alive, but not before they'd tortured them for the names of others who'd signed their names in Lucifer's book." Malfoy paused and took the book back from Harry. "This book, _Malleus Malficarum_, was published to help the inquisitors tell who might be guilty of the sin of witchcraft. They were taught to look for someone too old or too ugly to be dealt with, or someone too young and beautiful for her own good… Really, unless you were terribly dull and absolutely average in every way, you were a sinner. "

Harry was a bit taken aback. He had not come up here expecting a lecture on witch burnings from Malfoy. Finally he said daftly, "But we did study witch burnings in History of Magic. Our book said real witches just charmed themselves so they wouldn't be hurt."

"Potter, most of those burned and tortured were completely incapable of doing any such thing. Yes, there were cases of actual witches being caught and burned, but those were quite rare. It's rather funny, really… The Muggle priests put so much effort into rooting out magic, but all they managed to do was kill off several thousand of their own kind."

"That's not funny."

"No?"

"No. And if you think it is, you have a sick sense of humor."

Malfoy shrugged. "I suppose this is one of those 'agree to disagree' things, then." Harry stared unabashedly at Malfoy, who lovingly put the ancient book back on the shelf before turning to Harry and asking, "So, what's up? Is Granger gone? Can I come down now, since I've been such a good boy?"

"No, she's still here. Actually, Remus is telling her about you now and I said I'd come get you."

"Oh." Malfoy looked surprised. "You decided to tell her so soon?"

"Well, yeah. I tell her everything. I'm going to tell Ron, too, once he stops being mad at me."

"Hmm. Well, whatever you say, Potter," said Malfoy skeptically as he moved towards the door. "And don't worry, I'll be on my very, very best behavior with Granger."

It was funny, Harry thought as they walked down the stairs, he really couldn't tell Malfoy's sarcasm from his tendency to be dramatic.

Harry poked his head into the drawing room and saw Hermione looking pale and practically on the verge of tears. She didn't seem to be taking the news particularly well. Harry looked back at the other boy and gave him a prepare-yourself-for-the-worst look, then gestured for Malfoy to follow him in.

Hermione looked up as they entered and the pitiful look on her face intensified. "Malfoy, I'm so sorry about your mother." Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who looked every bit as surprised as he was. "It's just awful. Remus has explained everything to me and I'm really glad you've come for help."

Malfoy seemed slightly disturbed and unsure how to respond. Harry could practically see the wheels in Malfoy's head spinning as he tried, Harry supposed, to think of something to say that wasn't along the lines of, "What would you know, you filthy Mudblood?" or "You think I need sympathy from the likes of you?" Finally, after nearly thirty seconds, Malfoy simply said, "Thank you," though he didn't sound like he particularly meant it.

"Well, I'm going to go and make some lunch. Draco, would you care to help me?" Remus asked.

"No," said Malfoy plainly. Remus raised his eyebrows meaningfully and Malfoy got the hint. "Right, make lunch – leave Potter and Granger alone. Sure."

Harry waited until Malfoy and Remus had left the room and then, turning to Hermione, he said, "You seemed to take all that rather well."

"Yes, well, it's just like with Regulus, isn't it? Only worse, for all we know!"

"Hermione, I don't know if you should start feeling too sorry for Malfoy yet. He only just got here, and even though he's been behaving himself, he's the first to admit he's not here because he's changed his mind about purebloods being all perfect and everything. Not to mention that even if we're all agreed that R.A.B. is Regulus, we still don't know why he did what he did. He could have had perfectly awful reasons!"

"But Harry, Remus said you trust him – Malfoy, I mean."

"Well, that's a bit of an overstatement. I acknowledge that he needs our help and he has things to offer us and that it would be wrong to refuse him. But if I do trust him, it's only because I know he can't go back to the Death Eaters, since they'll kill him, not because he's proved himself to be a good person."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose you're right, Harry. But just remember Kreacher. He ended up being really dangerous and it could have been prevented if we'd all just been nice to him. He was really nasty, but we should have been better to him all the same."

Harry didn't quite see the connection Hermione was trying to make, but obviously it made sense to her, because she then dropped it and changed the subject. "Anyway, Harry, I have to get back to The Burrow. But you should really look around here. I know we cleaned a lot out, but now that we know what we do about Regulus, I think it might be smart to give this house another good once-over and see if we can find anything that might be important."

The next morning, Lupin left early, saying he had Order business to attend to and that he might not be back until late, leaving Draco and Potter on their own for dinner. Draco had immediately put forth the fact that he did not cook and grudgingly, Potter told him to shut up and not worry about it.

At about noon, Potter was sitting in an armchair in the parlor, looking through some book on defensive magic. A few feet away, Draco was lying face-down on the parlor floor, picking at a thread in the rug. He was humming a song that his mother had sung to him when he was very small.

"Malfoy, would you please shut up?"

Draco rolled over onto his back. "I'm bored, Potter."

"So, go do something."

"There's nothing to do." Draco wanted to add, "And I'm anxious and scared and I miss my mother and nothing I could do would get my mind off any of this_",_ but decided it was best not to elaborate.

"So read."

"I don't feel like it right now."

Potter shut his book and glared at Draco. "I don't know what you expect me to do about that, Malfoy," he said, as if he was speaking to a stubborn five-year old.

Draco held back a retort and, thinking of the only activity that remotely interested him, said delicately, "You could come explore the house with me. Lupin said it was too dangerous to do alone."

Draco expected a fast "no" in reply and was surprised when Potter said, "All right, then." Potter set down his book and got up, waiting for Draco to do the same.

"Really?" Draco asked, utterly taken aback. "You'll poke around the house with me?"

"Something like that." Draco stood and Potter clapped him on the shoulder. "It's time for you to earn your keep, Malfoy."

Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter, who was halfway to the door, and asked, "What do you mean?"

Potter turned. "You'll see."

Doing his best not to whine outright, Draco followed Potter and asked, "We're not cleaning, are we?"

"You'll see," Potter repeated, and led the way upstairs to the top floor. He then reached towards the ceiling to pull down the ladder leading to the attic.

"Potter, there's not some sort of Boggart or something up that ladder we're to take care of, is there?" Draco couldn't help sounding a bit panicked as Potter began to climb.

Potter turned and gave Draco a patronizing look. "You don't know how to get rid of a Boggart, Malfoy? We learned that third year, or were you in the Hospital Wing getting over that awful Hippogriff attack that lesson?"

Draco blushed. "I know what to do with Boggarts, Potter. I just don't like them, but I'm not afraid of whatever's in that attic." Draco was now convinced Potter had something truly ghastly for Draco to help him with, and if it was a Boggart, he would be quite put out. His fears had increased significantly in the past week and he was sure none of them were things he would want to face in an attic with Harry Potter standing by.

"You're not afraid at all of what's in this attic? After Lupin told you it's not even safe to explore the house alone, you're not even a little afraid?"

Draco drew himself together and said steadily, "No."

Potter laughed. "Well, it doesn't matter, anyway – I don't think there're any monsters or anything up there. In fact, I think you'll actually really like what I want your help with."

Draco was a bit miffed; Potter had gotten him all worked up and afraid he was about to face a Boggart, or worse, and it had just been to watch him squirm. But all the same, he could not help being a bit intrigued. "All right, what are we doing?"

"I'm looking for something and I thought it might go faster with two people," Potter said.

"What is it?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure."

Draco stared blankly at Potter. "You're not sure? Well, let's go, then. I'll tell you if I find anything."

"Don't be sarcastic, Malfoy. I'm looking for things that belonged to Regulus Black." Draco saw Potter furrow his brow, as if wrestling with himself over something. "And, a, er, a locket."

"So, old things of Regulus Black's and a locket?"

Potter nodded. "Yeah."

"And I don't suppose I'll be finding out why we're looking for any of these things?"

"Don't push your luck, Malfoy."

"I know, I know," said Draco, and followed Potter up the ladder.

Draco's first impression of the attic was that it was a bit like Snape's house: dusty, cobwebby, and packed with old books, furniture, trunks, and all sorts of unidentifiable items scattered about and shoved in every nook and cranny. The second thing Draco thought as he gazed upon the space in front of him was how much of a job it was going to be finding anything specific here. He now understood why Potter had told him he would be earning his keep.

In the five hours spent rummaging through the attic thus far, the only notable things Draco had managed to find were a cracked Foe-Glass, a large trunk filled with lacy lingerie (which, by its style and musty smell, he assumed had probably been stashed away since the 1930s), and in a corner covered by a wine-stained white linen tablecloth, the skeleton of what appeared to be a House Elf.

"Why couldn't someone have buried the nasty thing?" Draco said, holding the linen away from himself with two fingers and daintily tossing it back over the skeleton. "Or burned it?"

Potter looked up. "What?"

"There's an awful pile of bones over here. I think it used to be a House Elf."

Potter looked up from the box of papers he was sifting through and said, "Really?"

"Yes, really. It's disgusting. See for yourself." Potter did as Draco suggested and knelt down to have a better look. "Potter, I don't think those bones really require your examination. I guarantee they have nothing whatsoever to do with Regulus Black. I've seen pictures and he was much taller."

Potter looked up and scowled. "I know that, you prat. Unlike you, I just felt a bit bad for it. It looks like it died up here all alone and no one noticed."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, they've been taken down, but the Blacks always used to decapitate their dead House Elves and mount the heads, so since this one still has its skull, I'd guess nobody noticed it'd died." Draco shrugged and Potter stood up. "Anyway, don't mention it to Hermione. She'll want to have a funeral or something."

"Did I detect a hint of sarcasm in reference to Granger? My, my, Potter. I never would have imagined."

Potter frowned. "That's not what I – she just… she just has a thing about House Elves." Draco raised his eyebrows. "No. No! I mean she's always on about freeing them and making them hats and things. And for your information, under normal circumstances I'd want to have some sort of funeral too…maybe, but now there's not time, so just don't tell Hermione about it."

"Right, Potter. I promise not to tell Granger."

The attic was hot and stuffy and made Draco's skin sticky and feel like it was covered in a thick layer of dirt. But as long as Potter wasn't complaining, Draco didn't intend to either, and so it wasn't until Potter said they'd done enough for the day that Draco stopped shuffling through papers and sorting through mildewy boxes.

After a shower in the creaky old washroom on the third floor, Draco was clean enough to be quite curious as to what was so important that it warranted such a search. Potter had been right in thinking Draco might have enjoyed his task ("might" being the key word), and under normal circumstances indeed he might have; however, the heat and the stuffiness and the fact that Potter insisted on keeping him in the dark regarding just why they were up there in the first place had made the entire experience wholly unpleasant.

After his shower, Draco put on a towel and returned to the room Potter had assigned him. He looked down at the sorry clothes Potter had loaned him several days earlier lying crumpled on the bed. Even from three feet away, their smell was pungent. _This is ridiculous_, Draco thought. _Why on earth should I be subjected to such filth?_

After giving the t-shirt a final sniff, Draco decided he had had enough and that it was time to tap into the house's resources. After all, there was a lovely large armoire right there in the room; why shouldn't he have a poke through its contents? No one else was going to.

Draco opened one of the drawers and found it to be full of musty, but obviously high quality jumpers. He reached out a hand and touched one. It was a bit itchy, but certainly better than the ripe shirt Potter had loaned him. In another drawer, Draco found several pairs of trousers and, upon trying one on, was delighted to find the fit to be quite comfortable. The robes in the closet were also wearable. Draco was relieved not to be dressed like a Muggle any longer.

All that was left to find now was a pair of socks. Assuming these would be located in the uppermost drawer, Draco opened it and proved himself right, as he so often did. As he lifted a pair from the front of the drawer, a bit of the wood at the bottom was exposed. He was slightly puzzled by a tiny hole there about the size of a finger. And so, being a curious type of boy, he pulled the entire drawer out of the armoire and dumped all the socks onto his bed. Then, without pausing to wonder whether or not he should be sticking his digits into secret compartments in unfamiliar furniture, Draco inserted a finger into the opening and lifted the false bottom out.

In the small space between the board he had just removed and the drawer's real bottom, there lay a worn leather journal. On the one hand, Draco felt as though he'd had enough of papers and memories to hold him for some time, but there was something about the journal that he felt compelled by, something secret. Someone had hidden it there; it has been special to someone once. Setting the drawer down on the floor, he sat on his bed next to the homeless socks and opened the book.

He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the name on the inside of the cover. After a day spent inhaling dust and spores and other filthy, lung-clogging particles looking for something of Regulus Black's, he had just now found it in his sock drawer.

"Potter, you are going to love me! I mean really, you are going to want to marry me after this and buy me bed linens with very high thread counts and – "

Draco Malfoy paused in the doorway to the kitchen. Apparently he had not expected Remus home so soon. Of course, Remus had not expected himself home so soon, either. Usually, meetings with McGonagall took hours, because she wanted him there to help her with the kind of research that took the better part of a day. However, this time things had gone rather differently than expected.

"What I meant to say," Draco said awkwardly, "is that you will want to shake my hand warmly and perhaps buy me a pint."

Remus found this rather amusing and could hardly have been put out by anything right about now, even if he didn't; Harry, on the other hand, did not seem to think Draco's statement in the least bit diverting and said flatly, "What is it, Malfoy?"

"I, well, I think I've found something you've been looking for." Draco held out a battered old book and Harry stood and took it from him. After opening it and staring at the cover page for a few seconds, Harry turned to Draco and asked in an awed voice, "Malfoy, how on earth did you find this?"

Draco smiled smugly. "Oh, just some old-fashioned detective work." He caught the serious look on Harry's face and admitted, "Fine, it was in my sock drawer. Well, not _my_ sock drawer – the sock drawer of the dresser in my room."

Remus knew the look on Harry's face; he had been seeing it quite a bit these past few days. It was as if he was trying to put something together and he had all the pieces, but just hadn't gotten them to fit yet.

"This was in a sock drawer? Just lying there?"

"Yes, Potter. Well, lying under a piece of plywood. It was supposed to be hidden, I think, but I saw the opening, so I got curious and, well, found it."

"And – wait a minute, you're just wearing clothes you've found here without permission?"

"Honestly, no one has worn them for more than ten years. Are you especially attached to them?" Remus couldn't help but notice that Draco's face was slightly flushed and he was beginning to wonder just what had been in Draco's sock drawer. "I thought you'd be pleased."

Harry's expression softened. "No, I am pleased. Very pleased. This could be really useful, so thanks, Malfoy."

Remus looked on as the two boys stared at each other momentarily, until Harry sat back down across from him and said, "Remus, look at this. It's Regulus' diary. Can you believe it? It might say whether he, er, destroyed the, erm, _you-know-what._"

Remus took the diary from Harry and flipped through the pages. The dates spanned from about 1971 to 1978. "You know, Harry, this might be a bit early to contain anything about what we're interested in – and that's assuming Regulus would have risked putting anything on the subject in writing, anyway."

"But it's something," Harry said. "I mean, there might be clues as to people he knew, people who might be able to tell us things. We can at least read through it and see."

Remus nodded and handed the book back to Harry. "You're right. Now listen, I have some news as well."

Malfoy sat down across the table and Harry put the diary down and turned his attention to Remus. "Is it something about Voldemort?"

Remus saw Malfoy flinch. "Well, no," he said. "It's not, but it is about the effort being made against him. The way Hogwarts is structured will be changed this year. I've just had a meeting about it with Professor McGonagall. All subjects that won't directly help students in fighting and protecting themselves against Voldemort are being cut or altered. For example, no more Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, or Divination. Potions will be all about antidotes and concocting useful things like Veritaserum, Polyjuice, Felix Felicies, certain healing solutions, and the like. Defense Against the Dark Arts is being broken up into two classes because it's so important. One will deal with defensive spells, hexes, charms and so on, while the other will be taught in conjunction with Care of Magical Creatures and will focus on dealing with Dark creatures Voldemort already has, or may, employ – Dementors, Giants, Vampires, Inferni, Werewolves, Banshees, Trolls. And I've been offered the position of teaching the class."

"Really? That's wonderful! I mean, isn't it? You did like teaching, didn't you?" Harry asked.

"I did," said Remus. "Teaching was actually the best job I've ever had – not that that says much, I suppose – but, yes, I enjoyed teaching you very much, the both of you."

There was a moment's silence during which no one spoke and then Remus said jokingly, "I suppose this means you'll have to call me 'Professor' again."

Harry looked uncomfortable and said slowly, "Well, I'm, er, not sure if I'll be going back to Hogwarts this year."

"What do you mean?" Remus asked. "Harry, the training we'll be offering is going to be imperative in the fight against Voldemort – besides which, you'll find it hard to become an Auror without your NEWTs."

"But – " Harry looked over at Malfoy. "There are _other things _I have to do. Things Ron, Hermione, and I have to do."

Remus sighed. "Harry, I understand that you and your friends feel compelled to dive headfirst into the fight against Voldemort, but you need more training. Ron and Hermione both need more training, too." He paused and surveyed the impassioned boy sitting beside him. "I see how this may be hard for you to understand, Harry, but last time the war went on for years. It was a slow process, which ended quite unexpectedly only when Voldemort failed to kill you. This effort against him could take just as long, if not longer. I understand your enthusiasm and I'm impressed by it, but it would be better for the fight to take an extra year and for you to enter it prepared than for you to charge in now, without all the possible tools and knowledge you could be equipped with."

Harry looked angry and he said very slowly, obviously trying to control his temper, "I'm not willing to just spend a year holed up in Hogwarts while other people are out there dying. I'm the one who has to kill him and I'm going to do it as soon as I can."

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but Malfoy interjected, "Don't be an idiot, Potter. I don't know about you being 'the one who has to kill him,' but if that's the case, if you really are 'The Chosen One,' then isn't it better to have a chance of actually doing it? I mean, I've seen you in class and compared to the Dark Lord, you've all the power of a Flobberworm."

"I've faced him, Malfoy. I know what he's capable of. I've faced him before and I've come out alive so far."

"Apparently, he has too."

"He – I – you're just – " Harry stuttered. "Voldemort killed my parents and I'm not going to let him live one second longer than I have to! Nor am I going to sit at Hogwarts like bait for Voldemort or his Death Eaters to show up again!"

"You know, Potter, this is probably the number one reason I don't like you. You are so self-absorbed. You think you're the reason we were at Hogwarts? Well, you weren't. It was Dumbledore, plain and simple." Malfoy glowered at Harry and continued in a tight voice, "You think you're the only one who's lost people because of the Dark Lord? Well, you're not. And you don't see the rest of us running about like blithering idiots shouting _'Expelliarmus!'_ and thinking we'll vanquish him." Malfoy leaned forward slightly and, looking directly into Harry's eyes, said, "If you are 'The Chosen One,' then we're all depending on you. It would be disgustingly selfish of you to get yourself killed prematurely because you didn't feel like going to school anymore. If you die, then the impression I get is that the rest of us will just be fucked – so please, Potter, do the wizarding world a favor, and finish school."

Remus raised his eyebrows and looked over at Harry, who was looking quite taken aback. "Well, on that note," Remus said, "I'm going to go have a bath and then turn in." He stood and walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned and said, "Harry, I certainly can't make you finish your schooling, and I wouldn't have put it quite as forcefully as Mr. Malfoy, but I will ask you to put some serious thought to the matter. After all, you have the entire summer to work on… everything."

Remus left Harry and Malfoy in the kitchen and climbed the stairs to Sirius' room. As he rummaged for some towels and then made for the washroom to take a bath, his thoughts strayed to Harry and Malfoy. Remus was still not wholly convinced that helping Malfoy was the right thing to do. He checked himself – they _were_ doing the right thing by helping him. The real question was whether or not they were doing the smart thing.


End file.
